


Steel Horses and Copper Hearts

by ClareGuilty



Series: Steel Horses [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Western, Canon-Typical Violence, Cowboy Kink, F/M, Fluff, Loving Sex, Psychological Torture, Slow Burn, Smut, Western, gunfights, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-09-02 21:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClareGuilty/pseuds/ClareGuilty
Summary: Jesse McCree of the Deadlock Gang is one of the most wanted outlaws in New Mexico. While escaping from the authorities, he kidnaps Reader and accidentally drags her into a dangerous plot. The last thing she wants is to get tangled up in the life-threatening crimes of gang life, but she may have no choice.





	1. A Loaded Gun and Nowhere to Run

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Titles are inspired by Bon Jovi lyrics!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader encounters the Deadeye of the Deadlock gang for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, you're a loaded gun, yeah_   
>  _Oh, there's nowhere to run_   
>  _No one can save me_   
>  _The damage is done_

Tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air just above eye level. Gas lamps cast eerie shadows as the light twisted its way through the haze. You sat at a table by the window, far enough from the bar that the raucous conversation of the drinking men didn’t reach you. Through the dirty glass, you could see the orange and purple paint stroke clouds of the sunset and the signs of the townspeople winding down for the day. Even in the evening sun, people milled about boisterously, laughing and shouting as storefronts closed and tradesmen cleaned.

Albuquerque was a large town; you found you appreciated the noise and vivacity. Your father’s ranch had always been quiet, and you had grown tired of working in near silence from sunup to sundown. Cattle did not make good company, and there was too much to be done for you to waste time talking with the field hands. At least in the city, you could finish your day with a whiskey and coffee before going home for the evening. There were always people to talk to and drinks to pour once your work was finished. The people of Albuquerque enjoyed their free time and loved to celebrate any little event. Drinks were poured at every mention of good news, and parties were thrown whenever there was anything significant enough to clear an evening for.

The saloon was busy tonight and the whiskey strong. Men clamored at the bar, talking over one another and raising their glasses with each round of laughter. Every table was full. A group of women occupied one of the far corners, lounging confidently in large chairs as they carried on a muted conversation. Enough people had crowded into the dark bar that every seat was taken, and a considerable number of townsfolk were standing as they talked and drank. Couples embraced, businessmen shook hands, no one gave you any more attention than you gave them. You always enjoyed being able to disappear into the liveliness of the evening festivities. No one paid any mind to a quiet young woman who kept to herself, and you loved the anonymity. For so long, you had worked on your father’s ranch, doted on by the cowhands yet still always exhausted from the work. Your father had done everything to ensure your happiness, and for that you were grateful, but you had always dreamed of disappearing into the city. In Albuquerque, you were just one woman among hundreds. No one cared where you were or what you were up to; you were free to just move about as you pleased.

Which was how you were able to spend every night in the saloon with Mr. Metzen, a grizzled, elderly man who worked at the town hall keeping records and accounts. You often helped him with his papers because his eyes had gone bad and his joints ached when he wrote. He was friendly and crass, unafraid to speak his mind and tell things how they were, exactly the kind of person you had expected to meet in a town such as Albuquerque.

You had met Mr. Metzen when you first moved to town. He had helped you earn your position as a schoolteacher and find a room to stay in at the boarding house. Despite his gruff demeanor and penchant for using vulgar expressions that made you flush with second-hand shame, the two of you had become friends. Every afternoon, you would stop by the town hall and help Mr. Metzen finish his work for the day: filing papers and signing checks, occasionally running an errand for the sheriff’s office. The clock would chime for the evening, and the two of you would make your way to the saloon so you could enjoy a coffee and he could have something a little stronger. 

Tonight, he was listening to you vent about your troubles back home as he puffed on his pipe and sipped a tequila that would knock you off your feet in three drops. The years had hardened Mr. Metzen; the Mexican War, followed by the Civil War, had removed any trace of fear or weakness from his aging body. He could probably drink a barrel of whiskey and smoke a crate of cigars without much more trouble than a cough. His wiry gray mustache twitched every few seconds, and you found yourself entranced by the tic as you spoke.

“Pa was wanting to get some new iron fixtures for all of his hitching,” you said, “and I told him to wait until the children were out of school so that I could go down to El Paso and place the order for him, but he seems set on going this month. If he wanted to go himself, I could watch the ranch while he’s gone, but he doesn’t seem to understand that I can’t leave the children for a week. They would get into far too much trouble and forget all of the arithmetic I’ve tried to teach them so far.” You waved your hands in frustration. Your father was just as stubborn as you; it was amazing anything got on the ranch. Since you had left home, your father sent you letters every week to keep you up to date. You wrote home just as frequently, always excited to share your adventures in town. It infuriated you that your father would plan to go to El Paso without waiting for you to come home. The two of you were a team.

“We have this one field hand, Winston, who could keep everything running while Pa is gone, but he’s gone home to Amarillo this season to visit his sisters. They’re a sweet couple,” you digressed, “Emily and Lena. Lena is from England. _England_.” You said in amazement. “She sailed over here because of President Lincoln. Liked the way he spoke about freedom.” You sighed wistfully. Winston had brought his sister and her wife to the ranch one time, and you had been enraptured by all the tales Lena had to tell.

“You were saying that your pa was needing to go to El Paso,” Mr. Metzen reminded you. 

“Right.” Your frustration returned full force. “And he’s too impatient to wait until I can go home to keep the ranch.” You returned to the topic of your earlier frustration. “I don’t know why he thinks he can leave 500 cattle under the care of our fieldhands for an entire week-” You were cut off when the door to the saloon flew open and Sheriff Morrison stepped inside.

Everyone froze. You scanned the room, looking at the shocked faces of the other townspeople. Clearly, the sheriff wasn’t there just to drink because he was armed and flanked by the deputy, as well as another man you had never seen before. You knew the sheriff and the deputy from your work at the town hall, where they were always friendly and high-spirited. Now, they looked grim and determined.

Sheriff Morrison was a powerful and intimidating man. In a town of nearly three thousand people, he was the face of the law. Towering over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a body built from years of manning cannons for the Union in the war, he could silence anyone with a glare from his steel blue eyes. 

His deputy, a stern woman named Ana Amari, had fought alongside him as the Union reclaimed the West from the Confederacy. She was a sharpshooter with abilities beyond any man. Rumors drifted on the northern winds that she had married a mystic who had gifted her with the sight of a falcon to show his love. You believed them. 

Even now, with an eyepatch to mark what she had lost in the war, she stood proudly beside Sheriff Morrison, rifle in hand.

The third man who had entered the saloon was unfamiliar to you. The flash of a bear engraved on his belt buckle answered why. A California Ranger. He was a dark man, just as tall as Morrison, but larger in breadth. The scowl he wore beneath his dark hat made your stomach twist in fear. 

Mr. Metzen, who had fought two wars in the last half a century, didn’t bat an eye, but you noticed his mustache had stopped twitching. The rest of the bar had fallen silent, eyes casting wary gazes around the room to locate the source of trouble. You spotted him quickly-- the only patron at the bar who didn’t look surprised by this intrusion. He leaned against the polished wood, fingers drumming against his glass as though he didn’t have a care in the world. With his hat pulled over his eyes, you couldn’t see his face, but you could see the corners of his mouth turned up in a wide, smug grin. This man was dangerous.

The Sheriff saw him too, stalking towards the bar with long, heavy strides.  
“Jesse McCree, Deadeye of the Deadlock Gang, you are under arrest for the crimes of murder, cheating, bootlegging, robbery, bribery, drunkenness, and vagrancy. Hand over your weapon now and raise your hands above your head.” 

The outlaw’s grin widened, a flash of teeth that was more sinister than gleeful. His head shook from side to side slowly; he didn’t raise his hands. This man wasn’t afraid of the sheriff.

Your mind was racing at the list of charges the sheriff had just recited. How did one outlaw manage to commit so many crimes? How did an outlaw who had committed so many crimes have the gall to walk into a crowded saloon in the middle of town? The air in the saloon had become charged with something you didn’t understand, but that you knew was dangerous. You needed to leave before any real trouble began. 

Every other patron in the saloon had the same idea as you because a crowd of people raced towards the doors. Several people screamed as a shot rang out near the bar, and you tried to push your way through the crowd to no avail. There were too many people and you weren’t strong enough to push past them.

Large, warm hands wrapped around your waist, dragging you through the throng of people. Someone was helping you escape. You stumbled along as the stranger led you out of the door and onto the front porch of the saloon. The harsh orange light of the sun burned your eyes, and you squinted and blinked for several seconds.

“Thank you, sir,” you gasped, once you adjusted to the light. “I thought I was going to be trampled.” You looked up to your savior, only to meet the gleaming eyes of one Jesse McCree. The outlaw’s wide mouth twisted into that same smug grin from before, and you felt your heart stop.

The metal of a revolver muzzle met your temple; a loud click reverberated in your skull as the outlaw pulled the hammer back. “You’re mighty welcome, Miss.” The outlaw winked. “Why don’t you do something for me in return?” 

You shrieked as McCree grabbed you around the waist once more, lifting you as though you weighed nothing, and threw you across the saddle of his horse. The outlaw swung into place behind you, revolver still aimed at your head, and took the reins in his free hand. You couldn’t move, pinned under his strong arm. The horse stamped the ground as McCree guided the animal into the street.

Sheriff Morrison and Deputy Amari scrambled out of the still-crowded saloon, weapons raised and aimed straight at the outlaw. The California Ranger followed shortly after, taking aim with a large shotgun.

“Sheriff Morrison!” you yelled. “Help me!”  
Your call for help was met with a sharp tap of the pistol against your head and you yelped in pain. This was the first time a gun had been aimed directly at you, and you had never felt so powerless. Your life up to this point had been safe and peaceful. You were just a rancher’s daughter, a schoolteacher who had never asked for trouble. The outlaw’s elbow pressed into your spine sharply and you cried out. No matter where you had come from, you were caught up with the devil now.

“You lay a finger on the trigger and this little lady will be dead.” McCree warned. “I could take out the three of you and her before you could even blink. You know that.” The threat was spoken as fact, unchallenged.

Who was this man? Who could make a threat like that with such confidence and truth in his voice? Sheriff Morrison clearly believed him, because he lowered his gun. One of the strongest soldiers in New Mexico had just submitted to a dusty outlaw with a sharp eye and a wicked smile.

You thrashed in the saddle, trying desperately to free yourself from McCree’s hold. He pulled your hair sharply, forcing your head back. “Shut up, or I’ll shoot you anyways,” he growled.  
You stilled immediately.

“Let her go,” Sheriff Morrison demanded. You could barely see the three lawmen from your position. You managed to meet the bright, wicked eye of Deputy Amari, filled with nothing but pity and concern. You didn’t want to die. Your own eyes pleaded with her, begging to be saved. Amari avoided your gaze. There was nothing she could do. Even her falcon-sight was useless against the Deadeye.

“I’ll leave her be,” McCree drawled. “Once I’m safe into the desert. Hopefully, she survives-- may even make it back to town if she’s smart enough.” A sharp slap against your rear made you growl, and you thrashed once more.

The metal of the pistol was sharp as it swung across your cheek. You were still once more, though tears streamed down your face as you whimpered from the blow.

The horse began moving beneath you, McCree spurring the beast into a swift gallop away from the saloon. From the way you were flung across the horse’s back, you couldn’t see anything but the ground rushing by. Smooth, packed dirt gave way to rocky sand, which became boulders and brush. This was farther than you had ever been from the town. Biting back screams, you allowed yourself to be carried into the desert in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty) now!  
> And I'm still on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)


	2. Stand Tall, Don't Back Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader faces the aftermath of her abduction by the Deadeye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You better stand tall when they're calling you out_   
>  _Don't bend, don't break, baby, don't back down_

The moon had climbed over the hills by the time the outlaw stopped riding. Miles had passed beneath you, carrying you so far from town you feared you would never be able to find your way back. You were sore and ill from the rough journey, having been thrown across the back of the horse like a saddle flap for the entirety of the ride. 

McCree’s horse slowed to a stop, and you wished that the world would stop swaying before your eyes, even though you weren’t moving. Rough hands lifted you off the saddle and dumped you unceremoniously onto the hard ground. You wheezed and whined from the impact and the feeling of sharp rocks digging into your side.

“Good luck making it back to town,” McCree said teasingly. You snarled at him as he kicked the horse back into a gallop, a cloud of dust choking you as he rode off into the night.

Several moments passed before you were able to stand. Your feet were unsteady as you scanned the desolate horizon. You could see the hoof prints in the dirt where you had come from and where McCree had gone. Steeling yourself for the miserable trek before you, you took off along the trail the horse had left.

* * *

McCree was asleep against a rock, horse tethered to a dry and withered tree, belongings piled up only a few feet from where his hat was pulled over his eyes. You had no doubt he was a light sleeper, and you debated knocking him over the head with a rock to keep him down for sure, but you doubted you could hit him hard enough.

Fortunately, you were rather adept at moving undetected. You had spent years on the ranch creeping by your sleeping father as you set out to start your work for the day or sneak a few sips of moonshine from the field hands, so you had plenty of practice. Your father was also a light sleeper; it seemed anyone who had fought in the war jolted awake at the slightest sound.

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to follow McCree’s horse even further into the desert. Part of you had reasoned that he would have to stop soon to sleep for the night, but you had no way of proving he wouldn’t ride until dawn. Luck was on your side. He had stopped only a little ways past where he had left you. You were sure to make it back to Albuquerque now. With his horse and his supplies, you would be just fine.

McCree didn’t stir as you carefully picked up his holster and wrapped it around your own hips. The belt was large, and the leather hung over your skirt at an odd angle. His canteen and satchel were added to your possessions as you untethered his horse and carefully led the beast away from where the outlaw was sleeping.

A particularly loud stomp of the horses hoofs caught McCree’s attention, and he blearily raised his hat to blink at where you were stealing everything he owned.

You stared at the cowboy, frozen on the spot. He seemed to take a second to process what was happening. You tugged on the horse’s reins, urging the beast to follow you.

McCree finally registered who you where and what you were doing. He lunged forward with a yell, diving forwards to tackle you to the ground. You were quicker. You swung yourself onto the horse’s back and dug your heels in with a yell. The horse took off, shooting across the desert while McCree ran behind. It took no time at all to lose him, and you let out a cheer as the outlaw disappeared from your sight.

* * *

You slowed the horse to a walk once you had put enough distance between you and the belligerent outlaw. The thought weighed heavy on your mind that you had condemned the man to a death in the desert. His life was for nothing but the buzzards now. He had done the same for you, left you among the stones to die, knowing there was almost no chance you would make it back to Albuquerque.

The man was an outlaw, a murderer. This was his judgement. This was his justice.

You rode onward, unsure if you would even make it back to town yourself. The moon was sinking, and you knew you would have to be at the schoolhouse in just a few hours.

Pink was bleeding into the dark sky by the time the first buildings of Albuquerque came into view. You picked up your pace, pushing the horse into a swift trot as you tried to make it back to the boarding house.

The horse seemed thankful as you led it to a water trough. You would have to find something to do with the poor thing. You weren’t able to care for it. 

The wooden stairs of the boarding house creaked comfortingly as you made your way to your room. You deposited the things you had stolen from McCree in your chair, unsure of what to do with the revolver.

It took several minutes and two pots of water to clean the grit and grime of the desert from your skin. There wasn’t much time for you to rest before you had to head to the schoolhouse for the day. Quickly changing out of your dusty clothes and combing your hair into something less disheveled, you set off to prepare lessons for the day.

That evening, you didn’t even bother going to the store or the saloon. You were dead tired. Collapsing onto your bed, you slept through the entire night and made up for a lack of rest.

* * *

The morning came with a sense of security and comfort. Dawn light creeped through the dingy curtains in your room and illuminated the dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. You were back in Albuquerque. You were safe. You would go to the sheriff and explain what had happened, and you would never have to face such tormenting danger again.

McCree’s stolen things caught your eye as you moved about your small room. There was no escaping that what you had done was real, no matter how hard you tried to avoid the truth. The man was probably dead somewhere in the desert, picked apart by buzzards. You weren’t sure what to do with the stolen items. You could probably pawn the revolver, or turn it in to the sheriff for a reward. You didn’t even know what was in the satchel.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked up the small leather bag. Loosening the drawstring, you emptied the contents on top of your chest of drawers. A few coins clattered on the table followed by several bills and folded sheets of paper. A lot of paper. You picked up the yellowed pages, leafing through the many sheets to see what you could find.

The first page was a bounty issued by the sheriff of Santa Fe, listing McCree as worth $2,500, dead or alive, for a string of robberies and murders. Your jaw dropped at the list of individual charges against the man.

After that was another bounty notice for a woman named Elizabeth Caledonia "Calamity" Ashe, Queen of the Deadlock Gang. Quite a mouthful. This one totalled $3,000 and you gawked at the sheer amount of people this woman had killed. Ashe was a cold-blooded murderer.

The next page was a map of the area, with several spots marked as key locations for Deadlock. You didn’t pay them too much mind; you had no intention of getting involved with the Deadlock gang ever again.  
Several pages following were letters from Ashe to McCree, you skimmed them, unable to make out the various codewords and nicknames she had hastily scrawled across the pages. 

You folded the pages and shoved them back into the satchel. Your mind was made up. The children didn’t have class tomorrow and you had every intention of marching these items right to the Sheriff’s office. Maybe you would be able to get the $2,500 bounty for McCree, or at least part of it. You didn’t have his body, and for that you were more thankful than anything.

Leaving McCree’s things as they were, you made your way to the schoolhouse for your morning lessons. The children were raucous as always but you found you enjoyed their company much more now that you had faced the possibility of a horrific death out in the desert.

During your mid day break, you spent time taking care of McCree’s horse. You knew you couldn’t keep her, but you hadn’t yet decided what the best thing to do was. One more day with you couldn’t possibly hurt? Could it?

Mr. Metzen was shocked to see you stop by town hall that evening to help him with his papers. You recounted what had happened after you had made it out of the saloon, and told him about turning McCree’s gun to the sheriff. The old man gave you a long look before shaking his head slowly.

“You’ve got some grit to you, girl,” he said, “Not many people would dare steal from the Deadeye.” His mustache twitched and his eyes sparkled with something that looked like pride. You beamed and turned your attention to the records you were filling in.

“Why is he called the Deadeye?” you asked. Up until two days ago, you had never heard of Jesse McCree of the Deadlock gang, and you were curious. 

“It’s nothing more than a rumor, really.” Mr. Metzen shrugged. “Folks say that the kid messed with the wrong folks and got a cursed eye. He can draw faster than even the best sharpshooter. Kills seven people with six bullets. I don’t much believe in the curse mumbo jumbo, but I do think the kid’s a force to be reckoned with. He’s grown Deadlock into one of the most dangerous bands of varmint this side of the Rio Grande, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they plan to cross the river by winter.”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll be much trouble any more.” You thought back to the gun in your room. How many lives had that gun taken? How many taken lives did you bring to peace when you left McCree out in the dessert.

You didn’t go to the saloon that evening. There would be time to celebrate tomorrow. The evening was spent picking up some essentials from the general store and sending off a letter to your father. You neglected to tell him about your run in with the outlaw, instead just imploring that he let you take the trip to El Paso at the end of the month. 

You climbed the dark and rickety stairs in the boarding house, parcel under your arm. Turning the corner at the top of the steps, you gasped:

“A spirit.”

Standing at the end of the hallway, looking exactly as a man risen from the dead, was Jesse McCree. The Deadeye.

“Not a spirit. But mad as the devil.” The outlaw growled, prowling towards you and pinning you to the wall, his arm to your throat. He wrenched your parcel from your hands. “Where. Is. My. Gun.”

You spluttered and gasped, fighting for air beneath the large man. “My- my room,” you managed to choke out. McCree threw you down the hall and you stumbled towards your door. Your fingers didn’t want to cooperate as you attempted to align your key with the lock. You couldn’t ignore the presence of the man behind you. These could very well be your final moments.

The door clicked unlocked and McCree’s large fingers gripped the back of your neck, pushing you into the room. The gun and satchel were exactly where you left them. Jesse shoved you onto your bed and stomped to where his belongings lay. He checked the gun before slinging the holster around his hips, fastening the buckle with a familiarity that spoke volumes about the life he led. Next, he emptied the contents of the satchel, much in the same way you had that morning. He didn’t seem to notice the missing cash, instead counting the leaves of paper to ensure they were just as he had left them.

You cowered as he turned to face you. You couldn’t help it. The outlaw towered over you, hand resting on the grip of his pistol tentatively. 

A sense of calm washed over you. If you were going to die here, there was no use in dying afraid. You had earned this fate by your own hand. If you had just taken the path back to town after McCree left you in the desert, you would never have wound up with a stolen revolver. You sat forward, raising your chin to met McCree’s glare. The two of you stared each other down for a long moment.

The outlaw turned to leave. You stared after him. Only after his footsteps had retreated down the rickety stairs did you let go of the breath you had been holding.

So much for that $2,500 bounty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)  
> And I have no intention of leaving [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/) anytime soon


	3. She's a Little Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader makes the long and dangerous journey to El Paso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Oh, she's a little runaway_   
>  _Daddy's girl learned fast_   
>  _All those things he couldn't say_   
>  _Ooh, she's a little runaway_
> 
> _No one heard a single word you said_   
>  _They should have seen it in your eyes_   
>  _What was going on your head_

Life returned to normal. You were done with outlaws. Done with dangerous men and bounties. Classes resumed and paperwork needed filing and you finally persuaded your pa that it would be better if you went to El Paso to get the replacement hitching. It was a long trip, four or five days with a horse and wagon, but you had made long journeys by yourself before. El Paso was an even larger town than Albuquerque with nearly 10,000 people living and working in the city. You were excited to spend a night on the town and explore the vibrant downtown.

With a few days of classes canceled at the schoolhouse, and the rest covered by one of the library workers, you rode home to spend an evening with your pa before taking the wagon and beginning your journey south.

The evening with your pa was a nice comfort before your long days of travel. You helped him cook a nice, robust, home-cooked meal. The field hands were happy to see you home, and they felt no shame in passing around their moonshine. The lot of you laughed and sang the whole night long. You shared your stories from town while they shared stories from the other land they had worked in the past few seasons. When morning came, you were reluctant to go. Your pa hugged you and you promised him you would make it home safe.

The first two days of your ride were uneventful. You sang to yourself and admired the beautiful landscape of the desert. All you had to do was follow the Rio Grande until you reached El Paso, and there were plenty of small towns to stop and recuperate at along the way. You had brought your own provisions, and a large knife was tucked inside your boot, so you were also able to build your own camps and rest wherever you deemed fit.

You were just north of Rock Canyon when trouble finally managed to catch up to you-- or, rather, ambush you.

The ground was rough and uneven. Large boulders and low hills rolled across the empty desert. Bandits seemed to just appear from the underbrush, swarming you on their horses. There were five of them, all armed and kicking up dust as they circled your wagon. You reared your horses in, steeling yourself for trouble. Fear didn’t even kick in. You went straight to being angry. Just plain mad.

“Hand over your valuables,” a sharp voice commanded. This woman had to be the ringleader. Her face was hidden by a bandana, but you caught a peek of silver-white hair and the evil glint of two red eyes. She wore a surprisingly crisp white shirt with a blood red tie, despite the dust and dirt of the desert. The amount of gold ornaments pinned to her clean waistcoat and hanging from her belt made it clear that she didn’t _need_ your valuables. This woman was clearly well off enough without having to hold up every carriage and wagon that rode this way.

You didn’t have much on you worth taking. The money your pa had given you to pay for the hitching, your own provisions, and your old knife. If you handed over your money to these bandits, you wouldn’t be able to pay the smith in El Paso. Your pa had been saving all season for these replacements. You couldn’t return home empty-handed. 

The cock of a rifle. A shiny, golden thing that looked like it packed one hell of a punch. “Your valuables.”

You couldn’t help the white-hot anger that flashed within you. This wasn’t fair. You were done with outlaws. Done with gangs and bandits and being stranded out in the desert. Whatever this woman wanted from you, you weren’t going to give it up easy.

“I ain’t gonna ask again,” the bandit warned. You sighed and reached for your pack. Every bandit instantly raised their weapons. Four guns cocked and trained right on you. What did it matter? You carried on. You had had the pistol of the Deadeye against your temple. Was this any different?

“If I had a gun, I would have gone for it already.” You shook your head and pulled your pack into your lap. The outlaws seemed put off by your cavalier attitude. Five deadly bandits were standing you up and all you managed to be was… annoyed?

“Something don’t seem right here, Ashe,” one of the bandits hissed to the ringleader. You spared a quick glance to the man, a scrawny figure with a pair of desert goggles resting on the brim of his hat.

You froze. Ashe? Ashe of the Deadlock gang? Nicknamed “Calamity”? $3,000 bounty?

“Ashe of the Deadlock Gang?” you asked, one hand in your pack, tentatively reaching for the money your pa had given you.

The leader chuckled, red eyes crinkling in the shadow of her wide-brimmed hat. “My reputation precedes me.”

Your mind raced. You saw a way out of this. A shot you could take to get these bandits off your back. It was risky; if you failed, you were dead, but what more did you have?

“I know the Deadeye,” you said evenly, “Jesse McCree.” You saw a complex expression twist across Ashe’s covered face. The other outlaws exchanged confused glances, whispering to each other in surprise.

“My idiot brother?” she spat. “What business could you have with Deadeye?”

You raised your eyebrow.

“I’m sleeping with him.” There was a chance this wouldn’t do anything for you. Nothing to save your hide from these ruthless killers. But if Ashe was close enough to McCree to consider him her ‘brother,’ then there was a chance this could get you out of trouble, just this once.

Ashe spluttered for half a second. “You? One of McCree’s whores? You sure don’t look like his usual type.” A wave of fear and insult brought a frown to your face. What did she mean ‘not his type’? You were just fine. But if Ashe didn’t take the bait, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.  
“If anything,” she drawled, a note of amusement in her voice, “you look like the kind of pretty thing I would love to take apart. Maybe I’m rubbing off on him?”

You flushed deeply at Ashe’s insinuation. The women in your life had never been so… _forward_ before.

“Where are you heading, girl?” Ashe questioned. She hadn’t lowered her rifle; you hadn’t expected her to.

“El Paso,” you answered simply. You had played your cards. It all came down to whether or not she would take your bluff.

“That’s outside of our territory.” She squinted at you. “You ain’t working with Los Muertos, are you?”

“What’s Los Muertos?” you asked.

Another wry laugh. For an outlaw, Ashe seemed in very high spirits. “I guess that answers that question.” She shook her head and finally lowered her weapon.

“I’ll tell you what.” Her voice said that she was ready to make a deal. “You won’t have any trouble getting down to El Paso, but, in return, you have to promise me you’ll give my brother hell the next time you see him.”

It was a strange bargain, and you nearly shuddered at the thought of running into McCree again, but you had an act to keep up.

“That was the plan.” You flashed a smirk and a wink at Ashe, hoping you came across as sassy and charming. 

“Cheeky,” the outlaw drawled, the word slow like molasses. “Get the hell out of here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The wagon creaked and rattled as you urged your horses to put as much distance between you and the Deadlock gang as possible.

* * *

El Paso was a loud, lively city with plenty of fun attractions to keep you occupied for the evening. You arrived to town just as the sun was setting, too late to visit the smith, but early enough to wander into a bar with an upbeat band and a large open space for patrons to dance along to the joyous songs. You took a seat at the bar and ordered a coffee and what you hoped would be a tame enough whiskey to keep you on steady feet. 

The crowd was friendly and boisterous, clapping and chanting and cheering as a few enthusiastic dancers leaped and twirled on the worn wooden floor. A charming young man asked you for a dance and you couldn’t turn down the gleam in his eye and the gentleness in his smile. Tossing back the rest of your coffee, you followed him out to the crowd of people and let him twirl and dip you as the band played a raggy tune that would surely echo in your head all night long.

A coquettish lass with perfectly coiffed ringlets replaced the charming man as your dance partner, and the two of you laughed and sang loudly as the songs changed one after another. A gentle woman offered you another cup of coffee and a few sips of fresh water as you collapsed into a chair after a long bout of dancing. If this was every night in El Paso, you could never imagine turning in early. It seemed as though people didn’t even begin their day until late in the afternoon, drinking and dancing until past midnight every evening.

Retiring much earlier than any of your compatriots at the bar, you took a cheap room at an inn for the night and set your watch for just a few hours of sleep. You would need to be up quite early if you wanted to meet with the smith and start your travels back up to Albuquerque. A small part of you wished that you could stay a bit longer in El Paso, explore the town during the day and see all of the wonderful things it had to offer.

Morning arrived and you were thrilled to see that El Paso was just as busy in the early hours as it was in the evening. The crowd was different in the cool morning light, tradesmen shouting and working while a crowd of people went about their business. No jeering and shouting from drunken crowds or wild brawls between incensed bar patrons.

The smith greeted you warmly when you arrived to pick up your father’s order. He helped you load the heavy fixtures into your wagon and pointed you in the direction that would get you out of town and back to the Rio Grande. You handed him the money your father had given you and started your way back North, stopping to pick yourself up a few sweets and a warm meal before you left the town proper. If all went well, you would make it to Las Cruces by nightfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still new to [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)  
> Also feel free to yell at me on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)


	4. Pulling Your Strings, Twisting Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader continues the journey home to Albuquerque, but trouble still follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've taken a short detour to Metallica!
> 
> _Master! Master!_  
>  _Master of Puppets, I'm pulling your strings_  
>  _Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams_  
>  _Blinded by me, you can't see a thing_  
>  _Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream_  
>  _Master! Master!_  
>  _Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream_  
>  _Master! Master!_

You didn’t make it to Las Cruces by nightfall. You didn’t make it to Las Cruces at all. You were at a slight turn in the river when the thunder of hooves behind you had you veering off the path. Turning to look, you noticed a troupe of men quickly overtaking you. With your horses at a slow pace, you waited patiently for them to pass you before returning to the road.

The men didn’t pass. Instead, they slowed their horses as they pulled up alongside your wagon. You grimaced and thought back to the knife in your boot. Your threshold for trouble had been overstepped since before your encounter with Ashe. Whatever these men wanted, you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“ _Buenos dias,_ ” one of the men called to you, “Do you happen to know the way to the Las Luces Ranch?” he asked, smiling widely and tipping his hat in greeting. His accent was thick, and you guessed he had come from just south of the border.

“No, I’m sorry.” You shook your head apologetically. “I’m not familiar with this area myself.” You hoped that that would be the end of it. The men would go on their way and you would continue your trip back home. Of course, things could never be that easy. Trouble followed you like a hound on a scent.

“Not from this area, you say? Do you need any company while you travel? It seems we all head the same direction.” The question was innocent enough, but you weren’t in the practice of trusting strangers in the middle of the desert, not after all the trouble you had been in in the past month. You also didn’t like the gleam in the strange man’s eyes or the way his companions were slowly shifting on their horses, as though they were waiting for orders. Even more unsettling, one of the men in the back of the group was sitting stiffly on his horse; his eyes scanned the scene as though he was looking for something, but it didn’t appear that he could see at all. You regarded him with caution as the other man waited for your reply.

“My wagon is heavy with iron,” you said. “I would only slow you down if you traveled with me. You would make it to the Las Luces Ranch much more quickly with just your horses.” You hoped your reasoning was enough to convince the men to leave you alone. Something in your gut warned you to get out of this encounter.

“It is not safe to travel these parts alone. Many bandits and outlaws wander this desert,” the man insisted. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, more in the Mexican style, and an ornately embroidered jacket. His necktie was a large, brightly patterned bow tie that continuously drew your eye.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “Believe me, I’ve had my share of run-ins with outlaws. The Deadlock gang runs all the way to Rock Canyon. But they don’t cause me any trouble.” You grinned. “I can take care of myself just fine.”

The strange man with the distant eyes snapped to stare at you, and you felt your blood freeze. Something wasn’t right.

“The Deadlock Gang? You seem like quite the interesting lady.” One of the men had leaned forward in his saddle, head cocked to the side as he regarded you with new interest. You only spared him a glance before returning your attention to the man staring you down, though it didn’t even look like he was truly seeing you.

“ _Tráemela_ ,” he said, but his voice sounded distant and hollow. The other men in the group turned to look at him before nodding. You didn’t wait to find out what was happening, snapping the reins and trying to will your horses to move faster despite the weight of the wagon, “ _La necesito viva,_ ” the hollow voice called once more, but you were trying to get as far away from the men as possible.

It was useless, their horses were faster than yours even without the wagon slowing you down. They caught up to you quickly, but you had your knife ready. The first man to lunge at you narrowly avoided a cut to the arm, and you fended him off pretty well despite his superior strength and speed. What you weren’t anticipating was the butt of a rifle slamming into the back of your head as one of the other men closed in on your other side.

The world went black for several moments. Your wagon careened as you lay slumped in the seat, dazed and whimpering from the pain of the blow. The men managed to corral your horses and slow the wagon enough that one of them could yank you out of the seat. You sobbed at the familiar feeling of being dropped onto the hard desert ground. This time, there was no reprieve as the men began to tie you up, immobilizing you. The sensation of being lifted only vaguely registered and you didn’t even realize what was happening until you had been thrown into the back of your own wagon, one of the men replacing you behind the reins.

From the bed of the wagon, you could not see where you were being taken. The sky darkened and the ride became rough. Every jostle or bump reminded you how stiff and sore your muscles were under the ropes as the men rode on. They spoke frequently, mostly in Spanish, but occasionally in English. You tried to commit their voices and their words to memory. This information could help you escape.

“ _Los Muertos … Sombra … Territory … Deadlock … Border_ ” The words rattled around in your head with every jerk of the wagon.

Your mind raced as you slowly began to piece together what was happening. These men must belong to a rival gang of Deadlock. You remember Ashe questioning you about Los Muertos when you told her you were going to El Paso. When you had mentioned Deadlock to the men who had captured you, they must have assumed you were associated with the gang. If they found out you didn’t know anything about Deadlock, would they let you go? Or would they kill you? 

You were most afraid of the strange man with the vacant eyes. You had noticed the way he moved, jerky and unfamiliar, not to mention how he stared at you without seeming to see. The way he had looked at you when you mentioned Deadlock chilled you to the bone, and you knew the image would haunt you.

The wagon began to slow and the men became more boisterous. They must have reached their destination. As the wagon passed through a set of gates, you saw a sign over the entryway: ‘Las Luces Ranch.’ From what you had overheard, this is where _La Sombra de Los Muertos_ was staying.

The wagon slowed to a stop. You couldn’t fight the fear that gripped you. One of the men dragged you out of the back of the wagon, tossing you over his shoulders without any care for gentleness. You tried to lift your head to look at your surroundings, but all you could see were low pueblo buildings and a bunch of scattered junk. 

You were carried inside. The building was dark and cool. Men lingered about, smoking pipes and whispering to each other; their eyes followed you as you were taken into a dark room at the back.

This wasn’t good. Even if you managed to escape, there was no way you would be able to get away with your father’s wagon. All the new hitching was lost. What would you tell your pa? Would you ever be able to see him again? You didn’t think it would be so easy to make it away from Los Muertos alive. Even if you did, it was a three day’s ride back to Albuquerque.

The threat of tears burned behind your eyes and you fought to keep your composure. You couldn’t let yourself fall apart right now; you had to be strong. You had survived three separate encounters with some of the most dangerous members of the Deadlock gang; who’s to say Los Muertos was any different?

Except this time you were tied up and 250 miles from home. Panic waged war with reason as you tried to calm your racing heart. You were going to do everything in your power to make it back home.

You passed through yet another doorway before the man carrying you stilled. There was someone else in the room with you.

“I see you’ve brought our little Deadlock girl,” a voice teased. “Why don’t you leave her with me. I want to talk to my newest friend.”

Every instinct in your body screamed that the last thing you wanted was to be left alone with whoever this person was because they were _not_ your friend. You wanted to scream, tell this person you weren’t with Deadlock, tell them that you just wanted to go home. Instead, you whimpered as you were dropped in a heap on the floor. A sob broke free from your lips as you heard the door close.

You gathered all of your strength. There would be time to play the coward later. Now, you had to focus on staying alive. You fought your way to your knees, refusing to lay on the ground like a helpless little girl. Raising your eyes, you found yourself face to face with _La Sombra_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to yell at me over on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Or come watch me learn how to use [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)! I'm still new at this.


	5. I never drew first, But I drew first blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reader most likely has a concussion
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS FOR GORE AND VIOLENCE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter contains violence, torture, mild gore, and general unpleasantness. Please message me if you need anything [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)   
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)
> 
> _I'm going down in a blaze of glory_   
>  _Take me now but know the truth_   
>  _I'm going down in a blaze of glory_   
>  _And, Lord, I never drew first_   
>  _But I drew first blood_   
>  _I'm no one's son_

Sombra was a proud and terrifying woman. She leered down at you with bright eyes that held curiosity as well as strange knowledge. You fought back tears and held her gaze. Her eyes were narrow, brows thin and angled with scars running through them. You hated the way her lips twisted upwards at the corners in a mocking smile. Lipstick smudged at the corner of her mouth.

“So,” she tilted her head and crouched down before you, “a quaint little thing like you works with Deadlock? They must be in a pretty tight spot.”

Your face contorted into a snarl, not because of the comments about Deadlock, but because of the insinuation that you were _quaint_. “You know nothing about who I am.”

“Then you should tell me. I would love to get to know you better, _amiga_.”

You pursed your lips and furrowed your brows. Sombra could kill you easily, unless you could prove to her that you were useful.

“What do you know about the Deadlock gang?” she asked again.

“That they’re better thieves than you,” you spat.

Sombra let out a slow hiss of a breath and moved to stand. She dropped into a chair and assumed an arrogant posture, arms spread wide and legs cross nonchalantly. The relative ease in her attitude was more terrifying than the anger you had anticipated.

“You don’t want to mess with me, _chica_.” She examined her fingernails. “Give me what I want or I am about to make your life very difficult.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” you said. It was true. You barely knew anything about Deadlock. Nothing you had read in McCree’s letters made any sense to you and the only other information you had was that they had stopped you near Rock Canyon. Sombra had no reason to keep you alive unless you could come up with a way to be useful.

“Have you ever seen a _marioneta_ dance?” The question caught you off guard. Sombra continued, “Little dolls, completely at the mercy of the one pulling the strings.” She turned to glare at you, her eyes flashing an unnatural shade of bright purple for the briefest of moments.

“I pull the strings around here.”

You shuddered. Something about this woman was far more sinister than you initially thought. 

“I can control whoever I please.” She stood from the chair once more, stalking to where you knelt on the hard ground. “All I need is the tiniest thread.” She extended her finger and held it barely an inch from your face. You watched her in horror.

“Boop.” She tapped the tip of your nose and you recoiled instantly at the strange jolt that shot down your spine like a lightning strike.

Sombra chuckled at your reaction before standing over you, one hand raised as though she was waiting to pick something up.

Your breath was stolen from you before you could gasp as one of the most terrifying sensations gripped you. You felt as though your soul had been evicted from your body, as though your mind was trapped in the far reaches of your head and you couldn’t escape. You could see the world in front of you, but your eyes were not your own; they moved of their own accord. Someone else was inside your head.

Your head raised of its own accord, moving by some unknown force no matter how hard you tried to fight it. Forced to look at where Sombra was grinning wildly, eyes glowing a bright purple. You blankly watched her adjust her appearance as though looking in a mirror. She wiped the smudged lipstick with her thumb as you realized what had happened. Sombra had taken control of your body.

You remembered the unsettling man with the empty stare. The one who had moved so peculiarly. He was being controlled by Sombra.

“I can’t tell what is going on inside that pretty little head of yours,” Sombra teased, “but I’m assuming a clever doll like you has figured it out by now.” She crooked her finger and your head nodded, big dramatic movements that strained your neck. “I only need one touch in order to place a string. After that, I have total control.” She procured a knife from her belt, glinting blade with an ornately carved handle. You tried to will your body to thrash, to fight. Not a muscle moved.

The blade quickly sawed through the thick ropes binding you and you fell to the ground in a heap. Sombra quickly pulled you to your feet and forced you to stand perfectly still.

“Of course, the strings get weaker as _mis marionetas_ are farther away. It becomes harder to stay in control.” Your hands fisted in the fabric of your skirt and began waving wildly in some crude facsimile of a hat dance. Sombra only cackled at the sight. Anger boiled within you, confined where you had been forced out of your own body.

Twirling her finger, Sombra forced you to spin on your toes. The room raced before your empty eyes as she watched you stumble in a circle again and again and again. Your body fell to the ground in a heap as you suddenly regained control. Teased with the illusion of autonomy. You shakily attempted to stand, but Sombra snatched control of your limbs and slammed you back to the ground.

“If you can’t make yourself useful, I’m going to kill you. What do you know about Deadlock?” Her boots planted themselves on either side of your head. You pulled your chin from the floor, eyes dragging up to see the knife that dangled from her loose grip. 

“I don’t know anything,” you whimpered.

“Then give me one good reason why I should keep you alive.”

“The Deadeye.” Your voice was small, unconvincing. “If you kill me, he’ll burn this place to the ground. You’ll never make it out alive.” 

Sombra had no reason to believe you. This same lie had barely worked on Ashe. But what else did you have? 

Sombra laughed wryly, “So that’s how you’ve done it? Sold your body to the Deadeye for protection from the gang? _Puta._ ”

“It’s more than that,” you insisted. “Killing me is a death sentence. You wouldn’t survive the wrath of the Deadeye.” You were running out of time to prove you were worth anything to Los Muertos. “Him and his sister both would hunt you down.”

“Sister?” Sombra asked, genuinely surprised. “The Deadeye has a sister?” Sombra dropped to a squat, placing the tip of the knife under your chin. You met her eyes, terrified. The blade dug into your neck, threatening to break the skin. “You must know more than you let on, _amiga_.”

You couldn’t swallow down the pathetic noise that bubbled up in your throat. Sombra had no intention of killing you now, but she certainly wasn’t going to show you any mercy.

* * *

Los Muertos threw you in a small, dark room with a bit of stale bread and a pitcher of water. The hours of solitude allowed you to collect your thoughts, but they also left you with a wracking fear that forced choked sobs from your lips.

You were alive.  
You had lost your wagon and all of the hitching.  
Sombra had the ability to control your body whenever she pleased.  
You were trapped on a ranch hundreds of miles from your home.  
No one was going to come for you.

The lock on the door clicked and you readied yourself for the worst. Sombra stepped in the room and regarded you with a look of disgust. “ _Puta patética._ ”

You spat at her feet.

Wrong move. Your body was no longer your own as Sombra forced you to your feet and dragged you into her space. Her bright purple eyes cut through your anger and spilled the fear you had tried so hard to mask. A sharp slap across your face had the both of you staggering backwards in mirrored pain, your body suddenly your own once more. Sombra rubbed her own cheek in echo to where you tenderly prodded the scratches her sharp nails had left.

“Look what you’ve done.” Sombra shoved you to the ground, still cradling her cheek. “You’re going to pay for that.” This time your body was all yours as her boot landed squarely on your wrist, not hard enough to shatter the bone but hard enough to wring a scream from your throat.

Cradling your hand, you scrambled backwards into the corner. You wanted to fight. To scream and kick and claw your way past Sombra. But you knew you wouldn’t make it two steps. You would just have to survive until you could find a way out.

“Let’s get to the real fun. What do you say, _amiga_?” Sombra stepped out of the doorway and another body was thrown into the room. You recoiled at the large form that had collapsed to the floor. A dirty mess of a man. He was tied up and breathing hard. You met his eyes and saw the same fear that clawed at your stomach and chest. 

You wanted to reach out to the man, to comfort him, but you knew both of you were as good as dead if you made the wrong move. So you stayed still. 

“This is Dion,” Sombra introduced, “one of Deadlock’s runts.” She kicked the man in the side, a pleased smile turning up the corners of her lips as he groaned in pain. “He’s gonna help _you_ help _me_.”

Sombra produced the same knife from earlier. The air in the room seemed to still.

“You see,” her tone was far too conversational, too playful, “I only have to kill one of you. You guys can help me decide who has to go. Whichever one of you knows more about Deadlock gets to stay alive.” 

You blanched. You didn’t know shit about Deadlock. Not actually. All you had were cheap bluffs and fragments of information you didn’t even understand. Anything this man knew would instantly trump your lies, and you would be dead.

But the man didn’t speak. Didn’t make any sound at all. The two of you stared at each other in fear, neither wanting to condemn the other to a death by the hands of Sombra.

She quickly grew impatient. Tutting her tongue against her teeth, you felt your mind shoved back to that place, stolen from your body as Sombra took control.

“Let’s up the ante a little, shall we?”

The knife clattered to the floor and your body lurched to grab it. If you had been in control, you would have plunged the blade directly into Sombra’s heart. Ended everything right there. She had other plans. 

Your fingers gripped the handle of the knife. Your arm raised high. If you had any control, you would have screamed, would have fought back.

_No. Please. Stop. I don’t want this._

You couldn’t close your eyes as the knife came down. Straight into the man’s thigh. You felt the resistance of skin and sinew and then bone. The wet press of living flesh against the blade. The scream echoed in your ears as though you were underwater. The man’s eyes wide and red as he thrashed against you. There was no blood, not for the first second. The dark stain didn’t bloom until you had raised the knife once more.

It didn’t come down a second time. Sombra plucked the blade from your fingers and let you collapse into a sobbing, whimpering heap.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to.”

“ _Cállate_ ,” Sombra spat. “Tell me about Deadlock.”

“I don’t know,” you cried. “I don’t know.”

Sombra’s foot pressed down on the man’s leg. You winced and sobbed at his pained yell. Why was she doing this? You had to make her stop.

Your arms didn’t want to support you as you dragged yourself up. Sombra was too busy demanding information from the bleeding man to notice you. She had pulled him up by his hair, pressing the knife into his throat as she snarled in his face.

You lunged.

Sombra whirled around in surprise as you launched yourself at her, ready to put up whatever fight it took. Teeth bared and eyes feral, you knocked her off her feet for a moment.

She overpowered you easily, not even bothering to puppeteer your body as she gripped the back of your neck with her sharp nails and threw you into a wall. Your vision went white as your head hit the wood hard. She slammed your head into the wall twice, three times, before letting you slide to the floor, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to yell at me over on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I'm also slowly but surely getting the hang of [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)


	6. Shot Through the Heart and You're to Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader finally escapes Las Luces, but does she run into the arms of an even greater danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for being patient with me! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter! And thank you so much to Stella for being wonderful and putting up with my terrible verb tenses!
> 
> _Shot through the heart_   
>  _And you're to blame_   
>  _Darlin', you give love a bad name_

You awoke to the sound of a shot. A cacophony of shouting and fighting echoed from outside the door. The dim light hurt your eyes, and your neck and shoulders ached as you pulled yourself from the ground. You listened carefully to the yelling in the ranch house, trying to determine what had happened. Much of the shouting was in English. It sounded as though Las Luces had been overtaken. You thought you recognized some of the voices.

Not one to be left out of a fight, you yanked on the door, hoping the lock would give out under your weight. It didn’t budge. You planted your boot on the doorframe and pulled again. No dice.

Growling in frustration, you kicked the door, square in the center. The hinges groaned and the bolt shook. Rearing back once more, you slammed your foot into the door over and over again until it swung open with a crash, taking a good amount of the frame with it.

Dashing into the corridor, you desperately searched for an exit. The house was large, and you didn’t know how to navigate the narrow halls. The first door you tried opened into a sitting room, and you were debating which path to follow next when you heard several sets of heavy footsteps approaching. A fire poker rested near the stove and you snatched it up, brandishing it before you as people stormed into the room.

“McCree,” a molasses voice drawled, “ain’t that your whore?” Ashe stared at you in disbelief.

“How the hell did she get here?” The venom in McCree’s voice was unmistakable. You raised your fire poker defensively.

“We’ve got more important things to worry about,” Ashe snapped. “Split up. Find Sombra.” She stalked away. McCree followed. A huge man stepped into the room, pity for you clear in his eyes as he continued after the outlaws. Unsure of what to do, you followed after him.

Ashe and the large man took off on their own. You trailed silently behind McCree. He didn’t pay you any attention, but you kept your distance. Kicking open a door with one sharp blow, he stepped into the room. You heard a quick succession of gunshots. Peering through the doorway, you saw the bodies littered across the floor. The Deadeye.

Sombra stood opposite McCree. Your heart stopped when you saw her. God, you wanted that woman dead. The two stood silently for a long moment, sizing each other up. Waiting to see who would strike first. Sombra grimaced and her eyes flashed purple. You noticed a movement behind McCree. One of the men, not quite dead from a gunshot to the gut, was clambering to his feet, movements jerky and slack. McCree hadn’t noticed.

“Behind you!” you called. McCree whirled on the marionette, putting a bullet between his eyes.

That was all the distraction Sombra needed, she lunged for the outlaw, fingers outstretched.

“McCree!”

You threw yourself at the puppeteer. Knocking her hand away and forcing both of you to the floor. She let out a string of curses as she tried to wrestle the fire poker from your grip. You refused to let go of the iron. With a sharp kick to your side, Sombra scrambled back. You gasped for air.

“I should have killed you the first chance I had,” she spat, blood and saliva flying from her lips. She snatched a gun from one of the dead men on the ground, pulling the hammer back and leveling the pistol with your eyes in one swift motion. You snarled. Feral against feral. You knew your eyes burned with just as much rage as she glared at you. 

A low sound tore her attention away. You both turned to see McCree, his own gun aimed directly at Sombra as he cleared his throat.

Your body moved of your own volition, rage once again caged in the far reaches of your mind as Sombra threw you at McCree. His eyes widened as he caught you, your body instantly going limp in his arms. When you looked up, Sombra was gone.

You could see the war waging in McCree’s eyes. Leave you here and go after Sombra, or get you to safety as quickly as possible. You meant nothing to him. It would be easy to leave you here to die. To put an end to Los Muertos.

“Go…” you said weakly, “kill her.” Your mouth tasted like blood and you couldn’t fight the sobs that shook your body as McCree gently lowered you to the ground.

He seemed to come to a decision, sliding an arm beneath your legs to lift you. The sway of his footsteps made your head spin and you buried your face in his chest as he backtracked through the house. You lifted your eyes after a moment.

And immediately regretted it.

A body was sprawled across the floor, skin pale and eyes glassy.

“Dion-” you choked.

“He’s dead.” McCree said coldly. You could hear, beneath his voice, the loss he felt.

The harsh sunlight burned your eyes. You turned once more into McCree’s chest as he carried you away from the house. He brought you to the same large man from earlier with the same sympathetic eyes. He looked out of place in the scrappy gang of outlaws with his derby hat and bushy moustache, but you welcomed his soft presence as McCree handed you over to him.

“Keep an eye on her,” he ordered. You listened to his spurs as he retreated.

The man with the derby hat was gentle as he looked you over, tenderly lifting your arms to feel for broken bones and even using his handkerchief to brush away the blood and grime. He said nothing, but you found comfort in his soft gaze.

When McCree returned, your breathing had returned to normal. He took you back into his arms, despite the fact that you were capable of walking by this point. You couldn’t help but wince in pain as the outlaw lifted you into a saddle.

“Hello, old girl,” you crooned as you recognized McCree’s horse. “Have you been on a lot of adventures without me?” The beast seemed to recognize you, leaning into your touch as you stroked the coarse fur on her neck.

“Just because she likes you don’t mean nothing,” McCree grumbled as he adjusted her tack and deposited supplies into the saddlebags. “Move.” He shoved you back to make room for himself, sliding into the saddle in front of you.

You barely had time to throw your arms around McCree as he spurred the horse forward, nearly flying off the back of the beast as she took off in a gallop. Arms secure around McCree’s waist, you clung to him as he led Deadlock away from Los Muertos, away from Sombra.

The Deadlock gang were a rambunctious lot. They shouted and jeered as several of them rode alongside you and McCree towards their hideout. McCree was quick to shut down any badgering remarks aimed at you or him. He snapped at anyone who rode too close or looked at you too long. You spent most of the ride with your face buried into McCree’s shoulder, clinging to him tightly as he galloped away from the darkness of Las Luces.

Mid-morning gave way to the searing heat of the noon desert sun, which then turned to the sizzling orange of the afternoon. McCree and the gang continued riding, hours in the saddle with no sign of stopping for a rest. Your fingers ached from gripping the fabric of his shirt, and exhaustion tricked you into nodding off despite the rough ride. McCree reached back at one point, resting a hand on the outside of your thigh to jolt you back to alertness.

Deadlock’s hideout turned out to be an abandoned mission church in the middle of a long stretch of nothingness on the eastern shore of the Rio Grande. Cracked white stone and faded dry wood made up the central structure, surrounded by what you presumed to be commandeered stagecoaches and several canvas tents pitched in the rocky ground. 

McCree led his horse to the front of the old church. He slid out of the saddle and you realized too late that you were too weak to keep yourself from falling. Familiar strong arms snaked around your waist and hips to keep you from tumbling the several feet to the ground.

McCree’s expression was unreadable as he pushed open the creaky doors to the church and carried you across the desolate chapel. Behind another door at the back of the building, Jesse carried you into his bedroom. Setting you gently on the bed, he snatched a coil of rope from the floor and bound your wrists together in front of you. Even if you had the energy, you wouldn’t have been able to escape the tight bonds.

“Don’t move.” He pointed a finger at you with a low growl before stalking out of the room. You heard the door lock behind him.

You did a good job of following his order for all of fifteen minutes before curiosity got the better of you and you pulled yourself off the bed. Stumbling with every step, you wandered around the small room. McCree’s personal possessions gave you a few clues about what kind of man he was. A few books were scattered on a shelf, several bird feathers and tortoise shells. Some finer pieces of jewelry and a pocket watch were piled on a table and several knives were stashed in easy to reach locations all around the room, as were an unsurprising number of bullets.

The sound of the church door opening had you scurrying back to the bed. Angry voices carried through the door.

“Don’t you _ever_ speak against me in front of my men again,” Ashe snarled. From the sounds of the footsteps, the large man with the derby hat had followed her and McCree inside.

“If I think you’re full of horseshit, you can bet I’m gonna speak my mind,” McCree roared back. “I thought this was a family, huh Lizzie? Shouldn’t I get a say in what the family decides?”

“Not when you’ve gone soft you shouldn’t,” the words were razor sharp.

“Gone soft? You think I’ve gone soft?” McCree was on the defensive now. You could hear him pacing along the wooden floors, spurs jingling with every step.

“I know you have. Head over heels for some stupid whore? Who the hell do you think you are? Leave her. If we take the border then you can have as many women as you want.” You couldn’t see Ashe, but you could feel the anger in her stare through the walls. Did she know you were in the bedroom?

“This ain’t about the girl, and you know it. We have no business taking the border. You’re being greedy.” The Deadeye must have kicked over a chair because a loud noise nearly made you shriek.

“Would you listen to yourself? It’s awful late to grow a conscience now, don’t you think? There’s no turning back for you, Jesse McCree. Your tribe is gone. Your people are gone. We’re your family now and we need you. Sort yourself out and do it quick. I want to leave for El Paso in three days.” Light footsteps stalked away and you heard the front door slam shut. A moment of silence.

“I’m good, Uncle Bob,” McCree said dismissively. “Go make sure she doesn’t tear up anything important.”

The larger man left.

McCree’s boots approached the bedroom door and your heart raced. You knew he was in a foul mood, and you were terrified of what he might do to you.

He entered silently, placing his hat on a hook by the door and slumping into a chair on the far wall. You shifted quietly on the bed and stared at the floor. Smoke stung your eyes as McCree struck a match and lit a cigar.

The silence became too much.

“My ma was half Navajo,” you said quietly.

“Who the fuck said you could speak?” McCree growled. You winced and focused even harder on the floor in front of you, fighting back tears.

The cigar burned down.

“What was she like?” a rough voice asked. You looked up in surprise. McCree had leaned forward in the chair, eyes trained on you.

“I didn’t know her very long,” you shook your head. “She was killed trying to defend the reservation from a band of rebels. She used to tell me stories though-- said the only way to keep us alive was by telling stories.”

“She sounds like a strong woman. I can see how you take after her.” McCree snuffed his cigar on the sole of his boot, tossing the roach into a bin.

You shook your head sadly, “She died fighting for her family. All I ever manage to do is get snatched up. I’m useless.”

“Don’t you talk like that.” McCree stood. You flinched. He raised his hands and walked towards the bed slowly. Treated like a scared animal. That’s all you were. You shifted away as he sat beside you, but he reached for your hands, untying the ropes and rubbing the raw flesh beneath the knots. “You’ve got more fight in you than I’ve ever seen.” His voice was a low rumble as he massaged blood back into your bruised fingers.

“How the hell did you get picked up by Los Muertos anyways? What are you doing so far from Albuquerque?” 

You stared into his hazel eyes. Until this moment his eyes had always burned, simmered with hatred and anger. You couldn’t find it now. His face seemed softer, kinder. Was this the Deadeye? The cold-blooded killer of the Deadlock gang?

You told him everything. Told him about your pa needing the new hitching, about running into Ashe on the way down to El Paso, about lying to her. You told him about the men who stopped you on your way home, about Sombra’s puppets. He held you as you cried into his arms about the way she had treated you, about the things she had made you do, about Dion. His voice was soft as he whispered to you, held you close and promised that you were safe.

McCree wrapped you in one of his blankets, promising he would only be gone a few minutes to get food. Still sniffling, you nodded. You hadn’t eaten real food in days.

The Deadeye closed the door gently as he left the bedroom. Frowning, he ran his fingers through his hair. McCree had never considered himself a soft man, certainly not a selfless one. You brought out something in him. He had seen the fire in your eyes, the determination in your gaze, first when you had stolen his horse, once again in your room in the boarding house, and then again as you stared down Sombra. You were a fighter through and through.

But McCree had just spent the last several minutes cradling you to his chest as you grieved. He had brushed your hair out of your face and wiped tears from your cheek. You had told him about your mother, about your home. Did you trust him?

He remembered how broken you looked as he carried you away from Las Luces, the shaky fear that consumed you once the fight had burned out. It terrified him. Fear and disgust roiled inside him at the realization that Sombra had nearly doused your spirit. He should have killed her, should have hunted her down. But then he wouldn’t have been able to protect you.

McCree made his way to the cooking fire outside, next to one of the larger stagecoaches the gang had acquired. Uncle Bob handed him two bowls of soup and a bag. He didn’t know what was inside but he thanked the silent man and headed back to the chapel to get you fed.

You looked much better when McCree returned and he couldn’t fight the rush of relief as you smiled widely at the soup in his hands.

“Eat slowly,” McCree warned. You nodded and took a careful spoonful to your lips, smiling appreciatively at the hearty taste.

Opening the bag, McCree was surprised to find a change of women’s clothes. He glanced to where you were eating and realized just how bad a shape you were in. You looked to be covered in bruises from head to toe, and your clothes were filthy and torn. You hadn’t even paid them any mind, too preoccupied with surviving to realize that your blouse and skirt were nearly ripped to shreds.

“I grabbed you some of Lizzie’s old clothes,” McCree handed you the bag. “They should fit just fine. I’ll go get a pitcher of water so you can clean yourself off.”

You nodded, and McCree left once more. When he returned, the two of you set to work cleaning the worst of your injuries and removing the filth from your skin. You shuddered every time he placed the wet cloth against your skin, and he apologized every time.

McCree turned away as you removed what remained of your shirt, but you didn’t seem to care for modesty as you set to work cleaning yourself before pulling on the new clothes he had bought.

“Thank you,” you said, handing back the pitcher and your soup bowl. “I will never be able to repay the kindness you have shown me.” McCree saw that same passion, that burn he had grown to know as your fire, in your eyes as you pushed the items into his hands.

“If I remember correctly, this just barely makes up for me leaving you in the desert to rot after I kidnapped you from the saloon.” The outlaw shook his head, leaving once more to return the dishes. “Get some sleep. We can figure out where to go from here in the morning.”

This time when he returned, McCree was surprised to see you curled up on the floor, wrapped in one of his blankets as you slept soundly. Shocked, he froze for a second. Shaking his head in disbelief, he lifted you onto his bed and pulled another blanket over you.

Stepping out of his boots and stripping out of his belts, McCree laid down beside you. It wasn’t the largest of beds, but he managed to put a respectable enough distance between him and yourself before gently nodding off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I would love to hear from you!
> 
> Please come yell at me over on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)  
> or  
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	7. Each Step That I Take is on My Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well I'm so far away_   
>  _That each step that I take is on my way home_   
>  _A king's ransom in dimes I'd given each night_
> 
> Reader has to take time to heal at the Deadlock hideout. McCree struggles with the new direction the gang is taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Stella for being absolutely amazing!
> 
> This fic is turning out longer than I expected and I'm upset because I don't think I'll ever be able to write short things.

McCree woke first, blinking blearily in the early morning light and rolling out of bed. He watched you for a moment as you slept, blanket clenched tight in your fist and brows furrowed. You didn’t deserve such restlessness, didn’t deserve to have your dreams shadowed by the horrors you had faced at Las Luces.

He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t mean anything to him. You were just some school teacher from Albuquerque who he kept getting roped up with. What did you matter to the Deadeye?

He remembered that fire in your eyes. The look you gave him when he woke to see you running off with his horse and all of his belongings. The way you had stared him down when he confronted you in your room in Albuquerque. The ferocity in your expression as you snarled at Sombra, ready to take on the puppeteer even when you had nothing left to lose.

It wasn’t fair. You deserved better. Better than the way you had been treated by Los Muertos. Better than Jesse McCree.

He sighed deeply and sneaked out of the room to grab some food and a pitcher of water. He didn’t want to leave you for very long, afraid of what would happen if you woke up to find him gone, but he found himself stopped frequently by Deadlock members who needed one thing or another. The constant interruptions made him restless and irritable. Uncle Bob noticed his short fuse and sent him back to the chapel with some dried beef, a few slices of bread, and a jar of fruit preserves.

Thankfully, you were still asleep when he returned to his room. With a few minutes to himself, he cleaned his Peacekeeper. Polishing the weapon gave him something to occupy himself with as he tried to figure out what to do. Ashe had placed heavy demands on him, asked things of him that he wasn’t sure he could carry out. The two of them had run the Deadlock gang for years, but he could see where Ashe’s vision was starting to differ from his. How much longer could he do this, really? He wasn’t a kid anymore, wasn’t naive and stubborn.

You jolted awake, breathing fast. Panic spread clear across your features as you reached blindly -- for what, he did not know. McCree kept his distance, he didn’t want to scare you.

A few seconds seemed to be all you needed to put yourself together. Your breathing steadied, and your eyes became focused as you looked around the room. You watched McCree for a moment before your eyes landed on the food.

“Help yourself,” McCree said, and you wasted no time, sliding off the bed and snatching a piece of jerky.

You ate quickly. McCree didn’t blame you; he had gone hungry before, knew what it was like to go without food. He offered you a spoon, and you scooped the fruit preserves onto a slice of bread, moaning with delight at the sweet taste.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you frowned as you noticed McCree smiling at you.

“I’m not laughing. It’s good that you’re eating. Take as much as you like.” McCree shook his head.

“I’ll be on my way once I’m done,” you said in between bites. “How far away is Albuquerque?”

“You can’t leave yet,” McCree found himself saying before he could stop himself. He floundered for a second, trying to figure out what to say next. “You need to rest more before you can travel. You aren’t healed up yet.”

You looked shocked. “I don’t want to cause you any more trouble,” you said. “I don’t think Ashe likes me very much, and I don’t have a way to pay you back for food or supplies.”

“Lizzie can deal,” McCree shrugged. “Besides, the Deadeye’s favorite girl gets preferential treatment around here.” The outlaw winked. You flushed and ducked your head in shame.

“I’m so sorry,” you groaned, “It was such a stupid lie. I wasn’t sure what else to say to get out of trouble though. It was all I had left. It barely even worked -- Ashe said I’m not your type. I’m surprised she didn’t see right through me.” Your eyes stayed trained on the ground, too ashamed to look at McCree.

“Lizzie don’t know a goddamn thing about what I want in a woman,” McCree spat. You glanced up in surprise. “Besides, I’m more impressed than anything. You managed to pull one over on Ashe. Hell, I can’t even bluff my hand with that woman.” He sat back in his chair. “Rest up here another day or two and then we’ll worry about getting you back home.”

You agreed; you weren’t sure you really had a choice in the matter. You were stuck in the middle of the desert without a horse, subject entirely to the whims of a gang of outlaws. You should have been scared. What made this any different than being prisoner to Los Muertos?

McCree made his way over to the bed. He grabbed the spoon and began eating the fruit preserves out of the jar. Some of the jam got caught in his mustache and you smiled.

You decided Deadlock wasn’t so dangerous after all.

* * *

McCree insisted on Uncle Bob checking you over. 

“He ain’t a doctor, but he’s done a good enough job of patching up me and Ashe over the years.”

Uncle Bob was silent but sweet. He carefully checked the worst of your injuries and did what he could to clean your cuts and scrapes. His large hands were feather light as he brushed over your tender skin, and his fingers were gentle as they pressed into your ribs and wrist, checking for any damage.

Uncle Bob left and McCree returned. Feeling more confident in your condition, you were sure McCree would let you leave.

“If you give me a horse, I can make it to Albuquerque with nothing but water. I don’t need to trouble you any further,” you insisted. All you wanted was to go home, to be safe.

“Nonsense,” McCree waved his hand. “You’re staying here until you’re well.” He brushed a hand over your hair. You were startled at the gesture, but the warmth of McCree’s hand comforted you.

It wouldn’t hurt to rest one more night in the chapel.

“Let’s get you some fresh air,” McCree said, helping you to your feet. You leaned on him for support as you made your way to the chapel doors. The old wood creaked open, and you blinked in the glaring morning sun. It was already hot.

McCree led you around the patchwork Deadlock hideout. He pointed out the highlights: Uncle Bob’s stagecoach, the makeshift armory -- most importantly -- the horses. You stumbled towards McCree’s palomino, smiling and cooing. The beast snorted happily and stomped her hooves. McCree huffed as you petted the horse’s golden fur. Of course.

“You, uh--” McCree’s eyes moved between you and the horse, “you wanna go for a ride?”

You nodded quickly, already adjusting the tack and saddle so you could clamber onto the horse’s back. McCree let out a heavy sigh, but his annoyance only masked a fond smile. He slid into place behind you and took the reins from your hand. You may be friends with the beast, but this was still his horse.

The two of you didn’t go very far, just to the shore of the river and along the current a little ways before turning back. Being outdoors felt wonderful after days cooped up in one small room after another. McCree’s room was nice, but you hated feeling trapped in the chapel after just escaping Las Luces.

McCree seemed to understand; he let the horse wander at a slow pace. You fought the urge to lean back into his strong chest and instead focused on trying to minimize the amount of times your arms brushed his. The outlaw didn’t seem to mind. He rode along lazily, humming in your ear as you admired the horizon.

Deadlock was still quiet when you returned. The gang seemed to be relaxed and unhurried when they weren’t holding up stagecoaches or planning train robberies. Looking around, you realized you didn’t see Ashe anywhere. Where was she?

“She’s getting ready for El Paso,” McCree said when you asked him. “She rode out last night to round up the other leaders of Deadlock; we’re gonna need a lot more manpower if she wants to make this work.” You could hear the contempt in his tone. He still didn’t seem too keen. If McCree had doubts on expanding Deadlock territory, were the other members also unsure?

If power in Deadlock belonged to the leaders, what would happen if the leaders disagreed? Would the lower members have a say in the gang’s direction? What would happen if Ashe was the only one who wanted to push the Deadlock border down to El Paso? You could see Deadlock collapsing under such pressure, nothing to hold the gang together but one woman’s greed.

Looking at McCree, you could imagine him growing out of Deadlock, leaving the gang behind. How long had he been fighting already? How much longer could he go? From what you overheard last night, it sounded like he was already becoming disillusioned with the life of an outlaw.

Where would he go? Would he try to live a normal life? You imagined McCree as a field hand, working alongside Winston with the cattle. Your pa would probably never give a job to a man like McCree, even if he did deserve a second chance.

McCree was surprisingly charming as he procured a bottle of whiskey later that evening; he smiled and handed you the drink. You accepted gladly, taking a long pull of the sharp, fiery liquid before passing the bottle back.

“Probably shouldn’t be drinking until you’re in better shape,” McCree scratched the back of his neck with a guilty expression, “but I didn’t want to go through this bottle alone.” He took a drink.

You smiled, “There’s a chance I’m not in as bad of shape as you think I am.” McCree had been adamant about not letting you leave until he was satisfied you were strong enough, but you had felt fine since you woke up that morning. Sore, achy, tired, but fine.

McCree couldn’t find the courage to tell you that he wanted you to stay because he was selfish. He could only keep you for so long. You really did need to be home, in Albuquerque; Deadlock wasn’t safe for you.

“So,” you began, “Deadlock is going to take the border.” You weren’t very acquainted with the workings of a gang. It seemed likely that Deadlock would be moving farther south. Maybe things would be safer up in Albuquerque and Santa Fe.

“With Los Muertos weak and scattered, this is the best time to do it,” McCree said neutrally. He didn’t continue, so you spoke again.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“I don’t, but I’m starting to realize it doesn’t seem to matter what I think. Never mind it was me who got this gang off the ground in the first place.” He kicked up some dirt with the toe of his boot and took another quick drink. “There’s four of us brothers and sisters. Butch and Cassidy are currently working up in Santa Fe, while Lizzie and I run from the rio to Roswell. It’s gonna take all four of us to push down into Texas and Mexico.”

“Y’all aren’t blood relatives though?” you asked.

“Naw,” McCree shook his head with a chuckle, “Lizzie just likes to play house. Bob ain’t even her real uncle. He’s just been around as long as I’ve known her.” 

You wanted to ask more questions, learn more about McCree. He seemed like a good man underneath his gruff exterior. How did he get mixed up with someone like Ashe? But he insisted that you head off to sleep. You were a bit surprised when he laid down on the bed next to you. You hadn’t even realized you had been moved from the floor the night before. If he was fine with it, then it was alright. You repeated that to yourself until you fell asleep. Everything was fine. You were alright.

A nightmare woke you. You snapped awake, breathing hard. McCree was up in a flash, watching you with fear in his eyes and unsure hands. 

“Jesse,” you gasped. 

“I’m right here.” He opened his arms and you buried your face in his chest.

“She made me do it,” you sobbed. “I killed Dion. I didn’t want to. She made me do it.” 

Your eyes still burned with the image of Dion’s body on the floor of that house. Pale skin and glassy eyes. He was dead. It was your fault. The deep brown-red of his leg. He had lost too much blood. You had killed him.

Jesse pulled you close, rocking you as you cried. Neither of you were capable of words for a long while, just murmurs and shaky breaths.

“What if she makes me hurt someone I love?” your voice was small. Something in Jesse broke a little. Could he fight you off if the puppeteer decided to use you as a weapon against him? He was about to reassure you that Sombra was no match for the two of you together when you spoke again.

“What if she makes me hurt my pa?”

Jesse’s heart stopped. Of course you wanted to protect your family. You still had one. All Jesse had were some disloyal lowlifes that would leave him in the dust if it meant a few more dollars.

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to comfort you. As long as Sombra was still alive, she could find you and puppet your body. How would you ever be able to know you were safe when a monster like that had control over you?

Rage boiled in McCree’s blood. He would kill Sombra. He would hunt her down and watch the light leave her eyes if it meant you could feel safe again.

The anger felt strange to him. It had been years since the Deadeye had killed for vengeance, for justice. All he had known since joining Deadlock was greed and cruelty. He longed to take a life without knowing he was damning his soul. Then he longed to never take a life again.

You fell asleep in his arms. He held you to his chest, knowing this was the last night he would have with you. Tomorrow, he would have to let you go back to Albuquerque. The day after, he would ride to El Paso. After winding tangled up with each other no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he suddenly found he didn’t want to lose you for good.

This was the life of the Deadeye. He could never find any solace, any peace. Knowing his luck, he would die in the coming fight for the border territory. At least then he would know that you would be grieving him, not the other way around. You could always move on, settle down in town, and live an honest life. There was no redemption for him. If he lost you, there would be no moving forward. Everything would end there.

McCree tucked you under the blanket as the sun pulled over the horizon. Carefully slipping out of the chapel, he made arrangements to get you back to Albuquerque by nightfall. Bob dutifully began saddling horses. McCree wished he would work slower. 

You were still mostly asleep when he returned. The sound of the door caused you to stir, but he was glad you didn’t wake. Every minute he could delay meant more time before he had to let you go.

Fighting the urge to climb back into bed with you, McCree set about gathering provisions to send you home with. He picked a knife to give you, the only way he knew to offer you protection. He had seen how handy you were with a fire poker, he figured you could do some damage with a real blade.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Jesse didn’t even notice you had stirred on the bed.

A strange feeling had woken you. Not quite dreaming, you could feel yourself looking around the room. Sudden, sharp realization had brought your mind back. Your body was being used.

“Jesse,” you whispered, voice fearful. “It’s Sombra.”

The outlaw turned quickly, noticing where you had curled in on yourself on the bed. Your eyes were squeezed shut, as though that would keep Sombra from seeing through them.

“Is she close? Is she here?” Jesse asked, already reaching for Peacekeeper.

You shook your head. “I don’t know where she is. She must have found somewhere safe to hole up. I was still barely asleep, I couldn’t tell what it was.” Opening your eyes, you took a deep breath.

“She feels weaker. She must be far away. I think she’s trying to use my eyes to find out where Deadlock is hiding. I was able to push her out this time, but I don’t know what she saw.” Your eyes looked apologetic, remorseful. You felt bad for endangering the gang.

“There’s nothing much in here that could have helped her out. All she knows now is that you’re still with me,” Jesse said.

“I need to leave. It’s safer for you that I’m nowhere near the gang.” Pulling yourself to your feet, still a little unsteady, you began pacing. “You’ll have to cover my eyes. At least until I’m far enough away. Once I’m closer to town, I can make it on my own.”

“What makes you think you’ll be safer in town?” Jesse asked, instantly regretting it. He couldn’t protect you. Not really.

“If she knows I’m not with the gang anymore, she may just leave me alone. I’m useless if she can’t use me to find you. Besides, the sheriff can protect me.” You crossed your arms. Jesse couldn’t argue. You needed to be as far away from Deadlock as possible. 

A small part of him worried that he was putting you in more danger by letting you leave. Sombra would be able to find you. You were powerless to stop her from taking your body and killing you.

He reluctantly agreed to send you back to Albuquerque alone. You would ride the first part of the way with Deadlock, a blindfold over your eyes to keep Sombra from finding the location of the church. Once McCree was sure you were far enough out, Deadlock would leave you and you would take the blindfold off to ride back alone.

There would be five of you. McCree, Uncle Bob, you, and two Deadlock members. You and McCree would share a horse until it was time to take the blindfold off, then he would ride back with one of the other members.

It was a perfect plan.

Jesse tied a black bandana over your eyes once the horses were ready. You held onto his arm as he led you across the chapel and out to where the others were waiting. Jesse helped you into the saddle before climbing on behind you, much like the day before. You didn’t fight the urge to lean back into his chest. You needed the stability as the horse beneath you lurched forward.

The ride was long, and you lamented the loss of your sight as darkness was your only company for several hours. Jesse’s voice rumbled in your ear, encouraging you and reassuring you every time you felt the pull of the puppeteer’s strings on your mind.

Sombra’s anger was nearly palpable as she tried to force her way into your eyes. You took pride in knowing you were useless to her. She could try all she liked, but you would never give her the information she needed. As the miles wore on, it became easier to push her from your mind and body. The distance was weakening her power over you.

“My pa is going to be disappointed in me,” you said quietly after a while. “I don’t even have the hitching he asked for.” Your tears were soaked up by the blindfold, and you were thankful Jesse couldn’t see you cry.

“He’s going to be glad to know you’re home safe.” Jesse placed a hand over yours. “That’s what matters most.”

McCree brought the horse to a stop after several hours of riding. He took your wrist in one hand and pressed the reins into your palm. You missed his warmth as he slid from the saddle. His footsteps carried over the dry earth until he was saddled up with another Deadlock member.

“You can take the blindfold off,” McCree called.

“Not until you’re gone. I don’t want to risk giving Sombra anything.” You were facing stiffly forward, reins gripped tightly in your fingers.

“You take care of yourself,” Jesse said. He sounded as though he wanted to say more, but all you heard was the sound of hooves on the ground. The men rode off. You waited until you couldn’t hear the hoofbeats behind you before reaching up to pull the bandana away.

A choked sob broke from your lips as you looked at the horse before you. 

“Hello there, old girl.” You patted the palomino affectionately. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I love hearing from you!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)
> 
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	8. Full of Broken Thoughts I Cannot Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader arrives back in Albuquerque and tries to return to a normal life.
> 
> _I wear this crown of thorns_   
>  _Upon my liar's chair_   
>  _Full of broken thoughts_   
>  _I cannot repair_   
>  _Beneath the stains of time_   
>  _The feelings disappear_   
>  _You are someone else_   
>  _I am still right here_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, Stella, for loving my boys as much as I do! You made this chapter happen when I was too scared to give it up!
> 
> Also we needed to pay respects to the Man in Black, Johnny Cash! Can't have a cowboy story without him!
> 
> I want to have 9 up sooner! I just don't know how to write Short Things™

You rode straight home. The field hands saw you coming in the evening sun and two of them rode out to meet you while one of them ran to fetch your pa. You fell into his arms the minute you saw him. 

“Take care of her,” you called to the field hands as they took away McCree’s horse. “Make sure she gets enough rest.”

Your pa managed to coax you into the house, and you let yourself be sat in a chair as he pressed a glass of whiskey into your shaking hands. Tears were streaming down your face but you barely even noticed them. You had been hurt so badly in the past days, numbness was starting to take over in place of fear.

“What happened?” Pa asked, brows pulled together in worry. His mouth was a thin line and you hated how much his concern aged him. 

Shakily, you told him what had happened. There were details you left out: the first time you had met Ashe, Sombra’s ability to control your body, you and McCree sleeping in the chapel. The story was horrifying enough without you causing your pa even more trouble.

“Why would McCree, this Deadeye, bother to save you?” your pa asked when you were done. “Not that I’m ungrateful for his kindness, but I’m not in the habit of trusting outlaws. He didn’t do anything… untoward?” You shook your head.

“No, he’s actually very kind. I wouldn’t have made it home without his help.” Your pa frowned as you stared at your hands. What were you going to do?

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “You’ve been saving for so long to afford that hitching and I couldn’t even bring it home safe.”

Pa pulled you into his arms instantly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. None of this is your fault. You did the best you could. I’m so proud of you.” He squeezed you tight. “Your ma would be so proud.”

You cried until there was nothing left of you. Pa put you to bed where you lay in the dark feeling empty. The smell of smoke from his pipe was comforting, the last thing you registered before sleep took you.

Morning passed and you stayed in bed. Noon came and went. You heard the sounds of footsteps by your door, but no one ever came inside. You appreciated that. What you really needed was silence and solitude.

The sun was low outside your window when you finally rose. Your eyes landed on the knife on your bedside table. Before he had put the blindfold on, McCree had pressed the sheathed blade into your hand and clasped his fingers around your wrist. 

“Stay safe,” he had said, voice rough and insistent.

You picked up the leather sheath. The handle was polished antler, and it fit neatly in your palm. The blade slid easily from the worn hide as you pulled it free. Though the steel was solid, it was dirty and aged, its shine long lost under wear and tear. Nicks marked the curvature of the blade, evidence of years of use even before Jesse had acquired the old knife. 

Your fingers squeezed around the worn handle. You couldn’t tear your eyes from the sharp edge of the steel. 

Dion. Screaming and bleeding as the Sombra’s knife clattered to the ground. The wet sensation of the blade in his flesh. The smell of blood.

You dropped the knife.

The sound must have drawn the attention of someone in the house because heavy footsteps hurried towards your door.

You glanced up to see Reinhardt, an imposing German man your father had hired three seasons ago. He was a gentle giant, always able to calm down a skittish calf or an angry bull. He filled your doorway, worried expression painted clearly on his face as he took in the sight of you: hands shaking and breathing fast.

“ _Liebling,_ ” he stepped inside slowly. You were perfectly still as he took the sheath from your hand and knelt to pick the knife up from the floor, returning the items to your bedside table. “Let’s get you some food.” Reinhardt ushered you into the kitchen, fixing you a bowl of stew and a plate of squash.

You ate slowly, hand moving of its own accord as Reinhardt watched you carefully from across the table. The food didn’t even taste like anything, and your stomach protested every bite.

“Do you want to see the horse? She’s doing just fine.” The old man knew exactly what to say to get your attention. You pushed your half-empty bowl away and struggled to your feet.

McCree’s horse was resting in the stables, taking shelter from the oppressive desert sun. The old girl snorted and stomped happily when she saw you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Why don’t we go for a ride tomorrow morning?” you asked as you fetched some sugar cubes. She crunched on the treats with a pleased snort, pressing her nose into your palm to sniff for more. “You might be coming back to town with me when I go back to the schoolhouse.”

You hadn’t even thought about whether or not you were going to return to Albuquerque. The words had slipped out before you could think about what you were saying. The palomino snorted with excitement and you figured you couldn’t possibly let her down when she was so ready for adventure.

No one objected when you went right back to your room and buried yourself under your mother’s old blanket. Sleep found you easily, and you drifted off despite the noise of supper echoing through the house.

It was still dark when you woke again, but you woke readily. Pulling on your boots and shawl, you made your way to the stables and led McCree’s horse out into the navy blue night.

You spurred the old girl into a gallop and smiled widely as the cool air rushed past your face. The stars faded from sight as the sun climbed over the horizon. You rode to the far edge of your father’s land, circling around the wide empty fields. McCree’s horse was steady beneath you, you had never ridden such an easy, gentle beast before. How had a creature like her gotten caught up with outlaws like Jesse and Ashe?

Everyone else on the ranch was hard at work when you finally returned to the house. You slid out of the saddle, breathless and windblown, cheeks sore from smiling. Famished, you found the best the kitchen had to offer and fixed yourself a heaping plate.

A commotion outside caught your attention and you ran to the porch to see what everyone was shouting about.

A horse and wagon team was riding towards the house. Pa’s fieldhands were riding alongside the wagon, eyeing the driver defensively. Within minutes, everyone on the ranch was gathered at the front of the house, watching the stranger as he approached.

Reinhardt planted himself firmly between you and the wagon, his massive figure nearly blocking your view.

“What brings you here?” your pa demanded, shotgun in his hands. You peered around Reinhardt, eyes catching on a flash of yellow near the driver’s face. A Deadlock bandana.

“I’ve come to deliver some iron fixtures? The deputy in Albuquerque sent me this way when I asked.”

“Deputy Amari?” you asked, pushing past Reinhardt to stand beside your pa. A hand reached to grab for you but you brushed it off, raising your chin and marching up to the wagon. “She know the Deadeye sent you?” you crossed your arms.

The driver stiffened, fear flashing in his eyes. “No, ma’am. I just asked her where the schoolteacher’s ranch was. She don’t know nothing else.”

You walked toward the back of the wagon, peering into the bed. Sure enough, there was the hitching you had picked up in El Paso. Deadlock must have picked it up when they raided Las Luces. 

“Shouldn’t you be in El Paso?” you demanded as you rounded the wagon, back at your pa’s side. The driver flinched again, he was no more than a kid really. He looked about as old as some of your students, definitely too young to be riding to the border with Deadlock.

“No ma’am. Mr. McCree told me to deliver these fixtures.” His fingers shifted nervously around the reins. You understood. McCree didn’t want to send this kid to his death in El Paso, so he instead sent him a hundred miles in the opposite direction.

“Step down. I’ve got some questions for you,” you said. The kid did as he was told.

“Pa,” you turned to where he was standing, shotgun in hand, “it looks like we got our new hitching after all.” He looked shocked, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening. You grabbed the Deadlock kid by the wrist, dragging him into the house with you and closing and locking the door behind you.

You pushed the kid into a chair and began fixing him a plate and a drink. “What’s your name?” you demanded.

“Liao,” he said softly.

“You work for McCree?” You set the plate in front of him. The kid eyed the food suspiciously for a second before tucking in.

“Yes ma’am,” he said around a mouthful.

“How’d you find me?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“It wasn’t easy,” the kid waved his spoon with a shrug. “All he told me was to find what ranch the schoolteacher in Albuquerque lived on. Said it was important I deliver those fixtures. I was scared shitless of that deputy, but she told me where to find you easy enough. At least I recognized you when I got to the house.”

You realized you should probably head into town and warn the Sheriff about Los Muertos. Things were getting dangerous in the desert.

“Did McCree say anything else?” you asked. It was ridiculous, you were being hopeful. Of course he wouldn’t have a message for you. This was just a convenient plot to keep one kid alive while the rest of Deadlock rode to their death at the border.

“No, ma’am. He didn’t say nothing, but it’s clear he’s worried about you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he misses you a little. But that’s none of my business.” Liao shrugged and scraped the last of the food from his plate.

Your heart pounded in your chest at the kid’s nonchalant words. Jesse missed you. Your gut twisted at the realization that you would likely never see him again, that he was riding out and never coming back.

“Ashe is a cruel and stupid woman,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Liao nodded heartily and raised his cup. “Ain’t that the truth. Bitch never cared for anyone but herself. Don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling calling us a ‘family’ all the damn time.” You wanted to reprimand the kid for his language, but his vehemence brought a smile to your face.

“You’re sleeping here tonight. Pa might put you out in the shed or something, but I’m gonna figure out what to do with you.” You took up his plate and led him back outside.

Your pa seemed reluctant to let the kid stay, but you promised him that everything would be safe. He wound up sleeping in the shed, but he seemed thankful enough after the warm meal.

“I was so scared when you marched right up to that wagon,” your pa told you later that night. “I never expected you to be so strong. You’re more and more like your ma with every passing day.”

You didn’t want to tell him that you had no choice but to be strong. Weakness was not an option after the horrors you had faced. Maybe this really was the same strength your mother had.

It took some convincing, but your pa finally agreed to help Liao get a job either on the ranch or somewhere closer to town. The kid deserved a second chance, and you knew that was why Jesse had sent him to you.

“I don’t like the idea of you getting too friendly with these outlaw types,” he said as he puffed on his pipe, an old gift your ma had given him when they first got married.

“It looks like after this I’ll never have to deal with outlaws another day in my life,” you sighed.

“You don’t seem too happy about that,” your pa raised a bushy eyebrow in question.

“It’s just going to take me a while to get back on track. I’ll be okay,” you tried to avoid talking with him about the complex feelings you held towards outlaws. “I want to try and go back to the schoolhouse in a few days. Put everything back to normal.”

“Are you sure about that?” Your pa took a contemplative puff and let out a slow, smoky breath. “I don’t know what all you saw out there in the desert. What all happened to you. But the way you’ve been these past few days -- it’s a lot like what I saw in the war. You get this faraway look in your eyes sometimes, like you’re trapped in your own head. Plenty of soldiers had to deal with that when they came home. You don’t have to push yourself to go back. You don’t have to go back at all.”

You shook your head. “I want to go back. I want things to be right again, go back to the way it was before.” Taking a deep breath, you unclenched your fists in your skirt. “I’ll be okay. It’s over now.”

Your pa didn’t look convinced as you excused yourself to your room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me! Yell at me! These idiots won't bone unless someone makes them actually talk to each other!
> 
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> 
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	9. I'm Going Down in a Blaze of Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader realizes she can never return to safety and has to confront the horrors of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Stella for being wonderful and always teaching me new things about a language I'm supposed to be fluent in.
> 
> _I'm going down in a blaze of glory_  
>  _Take me now but know the truth_  
>  _I'm going down in a blaze of glory_

The smell of chalk was a strange comfort. You had returned to the schoolhouse only to find that the rows of desks and the dusty blackboard had never felt more like home. The children had been excited to see you, though they still resisted any attempt to be taught arithmetic.

You watched the last of them file out for lunch, excited to eat your own meal in relative quiet. The past few days had been hectic, trying to start over in Albuquerque after everything that had happened. You had been to the sheriff’s office every day trying to explain what had happened and ensure that you and your pa would be safe. Sheriff Morrison and Deputy Amari were reluctant to accept that Los Muertos posed a greater threat than Deadlock, but Deputy Amari believed you when you told her of the horrors you had witnessed at Las Luces. Thankfully, your room at the boarding house was still exactly as you had left it, and you were thankful to feel safe in your creaky old bed.

A warm breeze rolled through the open windows, carrying with it the distant laughter of the children as they roughhoused. You smiled fondly and finished cleaning up after the morning lessons. The children wouldn’t be back until later in the afternoon, which left you plenty of time to enjoy nothing but your own company.

You gathered your lunch and prepared to settle down with a book Mr. Metzen had lent you. Idle time no longer bored you. Instead, you longed for the peace.

A noise at the door of the schoolhouse caught your attention; you glanced up. One of the children had probably come back by to ask for one thing or another.

You nearly dropped the book in shock. A figure leaned against the doorway, the last person you ever expected to see.

“ _Hola_ ,” Sombra waggled her fingers before strolling into the schoolhouse. “Do you know how difficult it was to find you, _amiga_?”

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart had stopped. Sombra wasn’t even controlling you. Rage and fear clashed within you. You had to make her pay.

Sombra walked right up to your desk and took a seat on the hardwood. She knew you were powerless against her. She had already won this fight.

“Quiet today?” Sombra asked, her tone playful and patronizing. “I remember how feisty you were the last time I saw you. The Deadeye must have finally put you in your place.” She inspected her fingernails, clearly trying to get a rise out of you.

“Why are you here?” you asked, closing your book and setting it on the desk. Sombra noticed your food spread in front of you and helped herself to a generous bite.

“I came to kill you.” The answer was nonchalant. Another chore on the laundry list.

“You caused me quite a bit of trouble,” Sombra continued. “You and that Deadeye. What do you see in him?” Her concern seemed genuine, as though the real crime was your affections for Jesse.

“I ain’t got nothing to do with Deadlock anymore.” You fought the tremor in your voice; weakness was not an option.

“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was pure venom and it stung your ears. “I saw him in that chapel, saw the way he looked at you.”

“He’s gone.” You shook your head. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back.” The burning in your throat choked your voice. Sombra knew exactly what your weaknesses were.

“Oh? Is that so?” Sombra took another bite. “Aren’t you wondering why I haven’t killed you yet?”

“You’re sick.” 

“I’m waiting. I’ve always liked efficiency, and I’ve never been one to turn down a little fun. When I learned the Deadeye was riding straight to Albuquerque from the border, well I couldn’t pass up _this_ , could I?” Sombra gestured to you. 

You stammered. Jesse was coming to Albuquerque? For you?

He was riding straight to his death.

You broke. Sombra had to be lying. There was no way Jesse would be so stupid.

But if it was true, you had to stop Sombra.

Jesse’s knife was in the drawer in your desk. If you could get to the knife and get to Sombra quick enough, would she be able to stop you?

“This is really good,” Sombra pointed to your lunch as she licked her fingers clean. “Did you make it?”

Surprised by the question, you shook your head. Reinhardt had sent you food the day before. Your pa hadn’t been able to come into town, but Liao and Reinhardt had paid you a visit.

“Your family is very sweet,” Sombra said, as though the two of you were sharing casual conversation, as though she wasn’t about to kill you. “I’ve been watching them, checking in every so often. You were just close enough that I could see through you.”

Your blood boiled. Sombra had been using you. The ranch was supposed to be safe. You had given Sombra access to your home, had shown her everything you had cared about most.

“The man with the pipe, that’s your father? Maybe I should pay him a visit when I’m done here. Someone should tell him how the Deadeye murdered his poor daughter.” Sombra’s lip curled up in a wicked smirk. 

The desk drawer squeaked as you yanked it open, but it didn’t matter. You had drawn the knife and lunged over the desk before you had realized. Blind with rage and boiling with a need for revenge, you aimed for her throat.

Sombra was too fast. She took your body in an instant and threw you back against the blackboard. You couldn’t move, slumped against the wall with Jesse’s knife clenched in your fist.

“You never quit, do you?” Sombra asked. She shook your head no, grinning at her own sick joke. “Just wait there. The Deadeye will be here any minute.”

Sombra teased you relentlessly and without mercy. She told you of all the ways she wanted to kill you, to kill Jesse. She spoke of your pa, threatening to kill him too, as soon as she had finished with you. You could do nothing but take it, but listen to every sickening detail as she held you there.

Sombra’s hold on your body was so complete that you couldn’t even sob, couldn’t let go of the knife in your hand. You wished to bury that knife in her chest, or in yours. Anything to make it stop.

Heavy bootsteps thudded on the stairs of the schoolhouse.

Jesse.

You tried to cry out, to warn him, but your voice was no longer yours. 

Sombra acted quickly. She moved to stand along a far wall, out of immediate view of Jesse. He wouldn’t see her when he walked in. Your body was jerked from the ground. You were thrown back into the chair you had occupied earlier, knife clutched in your lap. Your head slumped forward onto your desk, one arm akimbo in a way that you hoped caused Sombra as much discomfort as it caused you.

You heard Jesse’s spurs as entered the classroom. 

_Turn around,_ you wanted to scream. _Leave me here to die because it’s not fair if she takes you too._

The footsteps stopped. Jesse must have seen you. 

What could this look like to him? You, slumped over your desk, unresponsive. Sombra had laid the bait and he had taken it without question.

“Darling?” Jesse sounded panicked. Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, at the mere notion that Jesse McCree would call you ‘darling’.

But he was in danger. You wanted to tell him to leave, to watch his back. To shoot Sombra and kill you too if it meant saving him.

Hurried footsteps approached the desk. You felt him draw near. Despite all of your anger, all of your despair, your body refused to move.

“Are you okay? You’ve got to talk to me. Please-” His voice broke off and you felt your stomach wring itself into knots.

Your body moved, the hand holding the knife flying out haphazardly towards Jesse. 

He was unprepared, but still quick. He deflected Sombra’s strike and pushed you backwards. It didn’t deter Sombra; she threw you again, frantically trying to meet Jesse’s flesh with the blade.

Jesse looked pained as he knocked you back and slammed his hand into your chest to knock you to the ground. The blow knocked the wind out of you and you heard Sombra grunt from across the schoolhouse.

The noise caught Jesse’s attention and he drew Peacekeeper and leveled the gun directly at Sombra. You watched him from the floor, still trapped in your own body.

“ _Hola,_ ” Sombra greeted, cocksure as ever. 

_Just shoot_ , you wanted to scream. _End this now._

But Jesse hesitated. And Sombra had dragged you to your feet and raised your arm high.

Jesse turned just as the knife plunged down. Peacekeeper fired.

The bullet must have hit because you regained control of your body all at once. You cried out as you collided with Jesse and the two of you tumbled to the floor.

You didn’t hesitate. Peacekeeper had clattered to the floor and you snatched the pistol up, pulling the hammer back as you stalked to where Sombra was slumped against the wall, clutching her stomach.

Sombra looked up at you with a sick smile, blood dripping from between her painted lips.

She took your body once more. Even sitting in a pool of her own blood, she still pulled those strings. This was her game, and she wasn’t going to lose.

Shakily, your hand rose. The unforgiving metal of Peacekeeper’s muzzle pressed against your temple. Your finger closed around the trigger.

You could hear Jesse staggering to his feet behind you, hear him calling out to you. He sounded so desperate, so scared.

You glanced at him, then you aimed Peacekeeper at Sombra and fired.

And you fired again.

And you pulled the hammer back to fire again but Jesse grabbed your wrist and you let the gun clatter to the floor.

Jesse pulled you into his chest as you struggled for breath. One hand stroked gently over your hair as you shook in his arms.

“It’s alright, darling,” he whispered. “It’s over now.”

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring wide-eyed into the fabric of Jesse’s shirt, but at one point he pulled away from you. His eyes were serious as he placed his hands on your shoulders to ground you and force you to look at him.

“Someone just rode up,” he said. The words only vaguely registered in your mind. “I think it’s the sheriff.” You nodded ever so slightly, so he continued, “I’m gonna hide in the back room while you talk to them, okay? You’re gonna be alright.”

Jesse was gone before you could fully understand what he had said. You stood in a daze until you heard footsteps approach the front of the schoolhouse.

Whirling around, you saw Deputy Amari peering into the building, rifle in hand. She met your petrified gaze. Her eye flicked to Sombra, to the revolver on the ground, back to where you stood with trembling hands and shaky breath.

She rushed to your side. “Are you hurt? Are you alone?” The deputy helped you sit down and took your hands in hers. The aged, rough texture of her skin on yours grounded you. Her question made your stomach turn, but you shook your head. She couldn’t know that Jesse had come to save you.

“You stay right here.” Ana forced you to meet her eye. “I’m going to fetch Jack and Gabriel.” You nodded and watched Ana as she strode towards the sheriff’s office.

The second she was out of sight, you rose from your chair and threw open the door to the back room. If the Sheriff was on his way, you needed to get Jesse to safety.

Jesse looked surprised to see you moving with such quick determination. You grabbed his arm and pressed the key to your room in his rough palm.

“You need to hide. Do you remember where my room is?” you asked. Jesse nodded and closed his fist around the key. “Wait there until I get this sorted out. Don’t let anyone see you.”

He left through the back of the schoolhouse. You returned to your desk, staring at the dark wood and trying to ignore the smell of drying blood.

Sheriff Morrison and the California Ranger, Gabriel Reyes, listened patiently as you explained what had happened. You had started carrying the gun and knife with you after what happened at Los Muertos; you never really thought you would have to use them, but they made you feel safer. Sombra had shown up after the children left for lunch. She had cornered you. You fought back, tried to take her with the knife, but she left you no choice. You shot her once, and she kept attacking, so you kept firing until she was still.

You didn’t feel bad, you said. She got what she deserved. After everything she had done, it was only right that you took your revenge. They would understand too, if they had seen what you had seen. She took everything from you, she tried to kill you. You weren’t going to let that happen.

Deputy Amari held you as you spoke. Your shoulders shook and your chest ached as you lied to protect Jesse. Sheriff Morrison watched you with sympathetic eyes. The Ranger’s expression was unreadable.

Deputy Amari said that you should go home and rest for the rest of the evening. The sheriff agreed. She let you take the gun and knife back, laid her hand on your shoulder, and gave a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s over now,” she said. “You’re safe.”

Avoiding her eyes, you left. The Ranger’s gaze followed you, prickling on the back of your neck as you left the schoolhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! I appreciate the feedback!
> 
> I'm also active on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)


	10. Wanted Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse convinces Reader she isn't safe in Albuquerque and that they have to leave together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride_   
>  _I'm wanted dead or alive_   
>  _Wanted dead or alive_

Your door was unlocked when you arrived back at the boarding house. Jesse stood when you stepped in, and your chest stirred to know that he was waiting for you, that he hadn’t left yet. A part of you had worried that he would disappear without a trace. He had no reason to stay now that Sombra was dead.

The first thing you noticed was the fresh blood on his shirt. He was hurt. You rushed to his side, pushing the soaked fabric up to reveal an errant, skewed slash splitting his dark skin.

“When did you get this?” you asked. Without thinking, you grabbed a basin of water and a cloth. “Take the bed linens,” you ordered. “Tear them into strips along the length.”

Jesse did as he was told, creating several long bandages from the linens as you cleaned up the cut.

“How did this happen? Did Sombra get to you?” you asked, tenderly washing the fresh blood away. Jesse hissed and frowned as you accidentally dragged the cloth over the wound.

“It’s nothing,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It certainly doesn’t look like nothing,” you scoffed. Grabbing one of the strips of linen, you began wrapping the gash with the bandages. Some of the fabric hadn’t torn completely, so you grabbed your knife to cut the strips.

There was blood on the blade.

You gasped and looked up at Jesse. He was watching you with fear and pity etched into his expression.

“I did this.” The world fell out from beneath you. “I hurt you.” How had you not noticed the blood before? Had you been so disoriented and dazed from the fight that you didn’t realize Jesse’s blood was on the blade he gave you?

“You did nothing.” Jesse took the knife from your shaking grip. “This was Sombra.” He cupped your face in one hand, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“Why did you come back?” You pulled away and resumed bandaging. Jesse was silent for a long while. You watched his jaw work, his brows furrow, his lips purse.

“I left Ashe,” he said after a long while. It seemed as though he was saying it for himself, admitting the truth for the first time.

“I left Deadlock,” he continued with more strength in his voice. “As soon as the fighting started in El Paso I realized that I didn’t want to go down because of Ashe’s mistake. I left - took off heading north and only stopped long enough to dig up some money the two of us had buried a few years back.”

You looked up at him in shock. What was he thinking? Surely this act of defiance would get him killed.

“Why did you come here?” you asked. You were hoping he would say that he came back for you, that he didn’t want to leave you behind. It was foolish. You knew. What could the Deadeye want with you anymore?

“I knew you were in danger.” Your heart swelled, racing in your chest and you felt your skin grow warm. “I’ve still got eyes all along the Rio and I was shocked to hear that Sombra was on her way to Albuquerque. I knew she was heading for you.”

“She was using me as bait to get to you. Somehow, she knew you would come.” You gathered up the bloody cloth and pushed it into your wastebasket. You and Jesse sat side by side on the bed, his hand on your back as you buried your face in your hands. “She was going to kill my family. She knew where the ranch was.”

Jesse’s palm rubbed soothing circles as you shook. “She’s gone now,” he said. You wanted to bury your face in his chest, cling to his shirt and curl up, let him hold you until everything went away. Instead, you collected your shaky breath and met Jesse’s eyes.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked. He was going to leave again. That’s how it always went. Jesse would raze through your life like a sandstorm, throwing up everything in his path before leaving just as quickly as he had come. There was nothing you could do to convince him to stay.

“Well,” he glanced at his hands. Worry looked unfamiliar on his usually cocksure features. “I was coming to fetch you. One of my scouts told me that Lizzie was out of her mind when she realized I was gone. I’ve seen her in one of her fits before so I can imagine what it was like. Poor Uncle Bob.” Jesse shook his head. “She’s put out a bounty on my head, and on yours. $6,000 for my head, dead or alive. $2,000 for yours.”

“Why me?” you recoiled. Several expressions worked across your face before you gave a small smile. “I’m worth $2,000? That’s a lot of money.”

“You’re priceless.” Jesse grinned and pulled you into his side affectionately.

“I didn’t even know Deadlock had that kind of money. How much did you dig up?” Your brows furrowed as you counted up just how much cash was at stake here.

“I dug up about $2,400. I’m assuming she’s going to want that back too. She’s a woman driven by greed. As much as she preaches, family means nothing to her. She just wants to be on top.” Jesse’s fists clenched. You knew that tensions had been rising in Deadlock for a while; it was only a matter of time before things boiled over. Jesse’s departure had probably brought a lot of heat.

His hand closed around yours. The contact made your stomach flip and you looked up in surprise. “We need to get out of here. It’s not safe for you to stay.”

“You want me to leave with you?” You pulled your hand away. The thought of leaving your Pa scared you. The ranch was your home. You remembered the gleam in Sombra’s eye as she talked about your Pa, the way she described burning down the ranch. Would he be safe if you stayed? Would Ashe hunt you down just as Sombra had? You realized you _wanted_ to leave with Jesse. You needed him. “Where will we go?”

“I haven’t thought too much about that yet. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.” There was a note of desperation in Jesse’s voice. This time, you took his hand in yours.

“We could ride east?” you offered, “Cut across Texas and make our way down to New Orleans?”

“That’s too risky.” He frowned. “If Ashe doesn’t catch up to us, the Texas Rangers will shoot me out of the saddle before we get to Amarillo. I caused them quite a bit of trouble a few years back.”

You nodded slowly, the realization dawning on you that there was a lot about Jesse that you didn’t know. He was a good man; that you believed. But how much had he seen? How much had he done?

“North is our best bet,” he said. “If we ride towards Colorado we can use the mountains as cover.”

“When should we leave?” you asked. Despite the fact that your world had been upended, you felt a cool sense of calm wash over you. You and Jesse could figure this out together. 

“Tonight.”

* * *

The two of you saddled up at sunset, just as the sky began to change from orange to purple. You had gathered as many supplies as you could while Jesse rested up in your room. It would be several days of hard riding to get far enough from Ashe and the rest of the Deadlock gang. Jesse spent much of the afternoon looking over different maps, trying to find the best route through the Rocky Mountains.

You led Old Girl around to the back of the boarding house where Jesse was waiting. He smiled when you rounded the corner with the palomino.

“You can take her if you want,” you offered. Shook his head, nodding to the dark-coated stallion he had ridden to Albuquerque.

“You take her. I’ve got my Dixon here.” He handed you a pack of supplies and began securing his own bags. “I was looking at the maps,” he began. “It looks like our best bet would be to ride all the way north to Grand Junction, and then from there…” 

“We can part ways,” you finished. The thought made your chest tighten.

“Yeah,” Jesse said. He was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed in deep thought. “That would be best. It’s about a five days’ ride - rough mountains will give us plenty of cover, but it’s gonna be slow going.”

“I want to say goodbye to my pa first,” you demanded.

He looked up, frowning.

“I won’t get another chance, will I? I need to tell him that I’m leaving.” You placed your hands on your hips. “We don’t have to stay long. I just need to see everyone one last time.”

Jesse looked like he wanted to argue. You stared him down until he sighed and shook his head. “How far is it?” he asked, grinding his boot into the dirt.

“A few hours northeast of here. We can get more food and supplies from the house.” This seemed to appease Jesse, and he began leading Dixon towards the road. As soon as he rounded the corner, he froze completely, hand inching towards his hip.

You darted to his side, peering around the building to see who was there.

“Awfully bold of you to show your face around here again, Jesse McCree.” Deputy Amari smirked and cocked her head. She cradled her rifle in her arms, leaning against the wall of the boarding house.

You positioned yourself in front of Jesse and raised your hands. “Please, Ana, he saved me at the schoolhouse earlier. We’re leaving tonight. He’ll never come here again.”

The deputy laughed, head thrown back. “Don’t worry, _habibti _. I won’t shoot your cowboy.” You nose wrinkled at her teasing. “I have an agreement with the Deadeye here. He can go free as long as he doesn’t start any trouble in my town.”__

__“He saved me from Sombra,” you insisted._ _

__“Oh, I know.” Ana’s eye gleamed in the evening light. “I would recognize that gun anywhere. You’re lucky Jack is as dense as he is. Otherwise, you would have had to run out of here a lot sooner.”_ _

__You took a step back, accidentally brushing Jesse. His hand steadied you before you could trip. “We’re good to go?” you asked._ _

__“I’ll turn a blind eye,” Ana tapped her eyepatch playfully. She gave Jesse a pointed look. “You need to watch your back. Keep her safe.”_ _

__Jesse shrugged. “I have no intention of getting acquainted with the Reaper any time soon.” You looked back and forth between the Deadeye and the deputy._ _

__“He may be closer than you think,” Ana flashed a knowing smile. You shuddered._ _

__“Goodbye, Ana,” you called as she turned to leave. “Thank you - for everything.”_ _

__“Thanks again, deputy,” Jesse said. “Give Fareeha my regards.”_ _

__Ana nodded and walked back to the street. You gave a sigh of relief and wiped your hands on your skirt. Both you and Jesse saddled up and began riding towards your pa’s ranch._ _

__“How do you know the deputy’s daughter?” you asked after a few minutes of riding. A strange feeling nagged at the back of your mind. You refused to call it jealousy._ _

__“I saved her from some bad folk a few years back. That’s why the old lady won’t shoot me. I’m in her good graces as long as I don’t cause her no trouble.” Jesse answered._ _

__“Oh.” You were quiet for a few moments. A realization had you jolting in your saddle and you turned to Jesse. “I feel like you gave her plenty of trouble that night at the saloon. You know, the night where you _dumped _me in the _desert _. I knew she could have shot you if she wanted to.”_____ _

______Jesse chuckled. “I’m not so sure about that. She’s an excellent marksman, Deputy Amari, but nobody is faster than the Deadeye.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh, right. Your curse.” You frowned._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I guess you could call it a curse. Never felt like much of a curse to me.” He shrugged._ _ _ _ _ _

______“How did it happen?” you asked. You weren’t sure what specifically you were asking for. So much of Jesse was a mystery to you._ _ _ _ _ _

______He sighed. You worried you had upset him, but he spoke after a minute._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I was born to a Navajo tribe up near Santa Fe. Things were hard for us, but we managed to survive alright.” He stared off to the horizon. “When I was still a kid, a band of rebels came through and destroyed everything. The same thing that happened to your ma happened to all of my people. We were nothing after they had finished killing. There was nothing left.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He took a shaky breath before he continued speaking. “I was just a kid, but I had nowhere to call home, no family. I decided that my best option was to fight back. I wanted to make hell for every damn rebel within the four mountains. I took up Peacekeeper and began stealing and killing. That’s when I found out about Deadeye.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You could almost understand. You remembered the anger you had felt after your ma had been killed. Jesse had experienced it tenfold._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I don’t know if I got Deadeye after they killed my family, or if I always had it. I just know that sometimes, when I shoot, the world slows down, and suddenly I know that I can’t possibly miss. You can call it a curse if you like but I don’t think that’s what it is.” Jesse turned to look at you. “I think it’s a gift. Deadeye lets me bring justice to my people.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______You nodded quietly. You felt you understood Jesse now. He wasn’t a bad man. Not by choice. He had been forced into this life, burdened with the task to kill the men who took everything from him. Your ma had died fighting that same fight, defending her family no matter what._ _ _ _ _ _

______“And Ashe?” you asked. You didn’t understand how he had wound up with Deadlock. Ashe was a cruel, greed-driven woman. She was nothing like Jesse._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I found Lizzie a few years back. At first, it seemed we had the same idea: steal from the rich and make a lot of hell. She was always insisting that she was my new family, that I needed to just forget about the past. She never really understood.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______When you had stayed with Deadlock at the old mission church, you wondered if Jesse was having a change of heart. Now that you understood what drove him to the life of an outlaw, things were becoming more clear. Jesse was tired of killing, whether he knew it yet or not. He couldn’t keep fighting if his heart wasn’t in it. You couldn’t know for sure, but you suspected all Jesse really wanted was peace._ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)! I have more fics over there!
> 
> Or get updates from my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty) where I try to be funny


	11. Shot through the Heart, and You’re to Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse and Reader begin the long and treacherous journey to Grand Junction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Shot through the heart_   
>  _And you're to blame_   
>  _Darlin', you give love a bad name_

It was well into the night when you arrived at the ranch. Even so, one of the field hands rode out to meet you when you were within view of the house.

It was Hammond, a friend of Winston, who was new to the ranch. He greeted you with a smile, wondering what brought you back home so soon. You told him you would explain when you got to the house.

By the time you and Jesse had Old Girl and Dixon in the stables, almost the whole ranch was awake and waiting around with curious eyes. Liao came running up as you made your way onto the porch where your pa was waiting.

“Mr. McCree,” he called, grinning. “It’s nice to see you made it back. How’s the gang?”

Jesse was quiet for a moment, and Liao’s smile faltered. Your pa frowned deeply and crossed his arms as he realized who your companion was. You tried to look apologetic as his disapproving gaze turned to you.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.” He pointed a finger at you and turned to storm inside the house.

“Come inside with us.” You took Liao by the arm and shoved Jesse through the door frame. He looked stiff and uncomfortable as you pushed him into a chair across from your pa.

You explained everything as best you could. You started at the schoolhouse with Sombra, voice wavering as you explained how she had hunted you down and threatened to come to the ranch afterwards. You explained Ashe and Deadlock, that she was willing to pay $2,000 for your head. Jesse’s expression was grim as he explained how he had left the gang. He told Liao that he didn’t know who had survived the fight in El Paso, but that both Deadlock and Los Muertos were weakened.

You had to leave, you said. You had to get as far away as possible and you most likely weren’t coming back.

Your pa was quiet for a long while after you finished speaking. You waited anxiously as he frowned and sighed and frowned even deeper.

“I should have known this was coming,” he huffed at last. “I was a fool to think you could stay around here after everything you went through. You were gonna have to leave some time or another.”

You shook your head. “I would stay if I could,” you promised him, “but I won’t be safe unless I can get as far away from Ashe as possible.” You took his hand in yours. His skin was aged and cracked. “I promise I’ll come back if I ever get the chance.”

* * *

You slept a few hours in your bed. Jesse was banished to the bunkhouse until dawn, when you would pack a few more provisions and begin your ride to Grand Junction. Your breath hitched every time you realized that you would be completely on your own in a few days. Jesse would leave you, and you would have to build a new life for yourself. You wished things could be different.

The ranch was always busy at dawn, and you took the time to say your goodbyes as you packed up some belongings from the house. You promised you would try to write once you were sure it was safe, but you didn’t know when that would be. There was a chance that Ashe would hunt you until either you or she died. The thought scared you.

Jesse had brought the horses out and you were ready to ride off before the day had even warmed up too much. You did not look forward to the heat of the days that lay before you, at least until you reached the mountains. For a fleeting moment, you wondered how much colder Colorado would be than New Mexico. You had known the desert all your life, and cold winters were a very real fear for you.

Your pa came from the house with a rifle in his hands. His footsteps were heavy on the wooden porch steps. Jesse glowered at the gun, distrust clear in his eyes. His hand flew to his hip, fingers brushing over Peacekeeper.

In an attempt to de-escalate the situation, you ran up to your pa, planting yourself firmly between the two men.

“What have you got there?” you asked nervously.

Pa looked sorrowful. Your throat tightened as you saw the wet shine of his eyes. “I hate that it’s come to this,” he said, “but I can’t let you go off on your own without giving you some way to protect yourself. It’s the last thing I want for my daughter to have to carry a gun after all my years at war.” He handed the rifle over to you, and you tested the familiar weight in your arms.

“Susie!” you exclaimed joyfully.

“Who the hell is Susie?” Jesse demanded from behind you. He looked much more relaxed now that you were the one holding the gun, but his brow was still furrowed.

“This is the gun I first learned how to shoot with. I named her Susie,” you explained.

“Were you any good?” Jesse asked.

You shrugged. “I could shoot a bottle off a fencepost,” you pointed off in the distance where the fence line was, “but I’m no marksman. I did shoot a deer while on horseback once.” You grinned, proud of yourself.

Jesse seemed satisfied with your answer. You turned back to your pa, hugging him awkwardly around the rifle. “Thank you, Pa. I promise I’ll be safe.” You stowed Susie with Old Girl and excused yourself to go say goodbye to Reinhardt, who had just gotten back in from a drive out towards Santa Fe.

The old German crushed you in a huge hug as you said your goodbyes. He walked back with you to the house where Jesse and your pa were speaking. They fell silent as you approached. Jesse looked even more anxious to leave, so you pushed aside your fears and climbed into the saddle.

“Goodbye, Pa. I promise I’ll write and visit if I get the chance.”

Jesse urged Dixon to a quick trot and you hurried to catch up as he headed towards the property line. You hoped the next few days of travel wouldn’t be too uncomfortable with Jesse. He seemed kind of short-tempered after speaking with your pa, which made you both curious and worried. What were they talking about? 

Jesse was quiet for a long while as you rode, and the silence was making you antsy. You let Old Girl trail behind for a bit, putting some space between you. With Jesse several yards ahead, you took to humming under your breath, quiet enough not to disturb him. The horizon was dull, the same desert you had known for years, and you had little to occupy yourself with since Jesse didn’t seem too keen on conversation.

“What are you singing?” His voice startled you, and you looked ahead to see that Old Girl had drawn up closer to Dixon without you noticing. 

“Just some old song from the ranch.” You looked away, embarrassed. “Sorry if I was annoying you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jesse said. Then he fell silent once more. You kept quiet as well.

“Your family seems nice,” he spoke again, much later. It was nearly noon. “It was very kind of them to take in Liao. The kid deserves a life like that.”

“Pa was a bit skeptical at first, but I got him to come around. Everyone deserves a second chance,” you said.

“I don’t know if I agree with that, but it’s nice to know you have hope for people like us,” Jesse scoffed.

You felt a spark of anger at his patronizing tone. Was this not his second chance? He could start a new life. A life without Deadlock or killing or thievery. What was his plan then? Did he have one?

The hours stretched long over the shallow hills and sun-scorched stone. Conversation was frequent but short-lived as you spoke of small things. Jesse was humorous, charming, quick-witted. You found yourself opening up to him more and more, and he appeared to do the same. You remembered how easy it was to be around Jesse at the chapel, how gentle he had been as you recovered from your time at Las Luces. It seemed ridiculous, but you found a sort of comfort and safety in his presence.

_Don’t get too comfortable._ You reminded yourself snidely. This was just another temporary arrangement. Jesse was nothing more in your life than a strange force that came and went as it pleased. That wild dust storm that disappeared as quickly as it formed, but always left you breathless.

The two of you made camp in a shallow canyon that blocked the worst of the wind. You managed to build a small fire from dry brush, just enough to warm your food and your hands. Jesse urged you to rest up first. He would wake you if he needed you to take watch. You wrapped yourself in an old blanket you had taken from the house and curled up on the ground a little ways from the fire.

Jesse watched your breathing slow. Sorrow and anguish had been weighing on him all day. He was dragging you away from a life of safety, from your family. You had a home, with a father that loved you and dozens of field hands to care for you. You had a job at the schoolhouse.

You had to give it all up because of Jesse. Because he had gotten you tangled up in a mess that was spiraling out of his control. Because he was weak.

You were his weakness. Ashe knew it. Sombra had known it. Your father knew it. Did you know it?

It was useless to wonder if you felt the same way. You had made it clear that a future with Jesse was not a future you wanted. Once you made it to Colorado, the two of you would part ways and that would be the end of it.

He sighed and watched you sleep. What was a second chance if he couldn’t share it with you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> I have a ton more fics on my [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)


	12. Living on a Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse and Reader make their final stand against Deadlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Woah, we're half way there_   
>  _Woah, livin' on a prayer_   
>  _Take my hand, we'll make it I swear_   
>  _Woah, livin' on a prayer_

The sound of the fire crackling was the only thing that slowed your racing heart. You had jolted upright, fleeing from a nightmare you couldn’t remember. Breathing hard and shivering from the cool desert air, you scanned the horizon.

Everything was still. Nothing stirred in the rocky canyon save for the sound of the wind howling through the boulders. You spotted Jesse sitting several paces away beside the fire. He was watching you carefully, the left side of his face flickering orange, right eye mysteriously bright as always. You were still breathing fast, gripping the woven blanket you had wrapped yourself in.

Jesse knelt down next to you. “I’m here. Right here.” He slowly reached out to place a hand on your shoulder. Your shivering must have alarmed him because he scooped you into his arms effortlessly and carried you over to the fire.

“Let’s get you warmed up.” He wrapped his serape around you and rubbed your arms vigorously. You were starting to calm down, and apologies tumbled from your lips.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you insisted, not wanting to inconvenience your companion.

“Ain’t nothing,” he assured you, “can’t sleep anyways.” You stared at the ground, still embarrassed from your earlier nightmare.

“C’mere,” Jesse wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You won’t get warm sitting so far away.”

He pulled you in close, and you stiffened before relaxing and leaning your head into his chest. You remembered the chapel, the closeness to Jesse you had felt in his little room at the back for the church.

“What had you so spooked?” Jesse asked, taking your cold fingers into his large hands. He rubbed his palms over your knuckles to try and warm you.

“I don’t remember,” you answered softly, watching the flames lick away at the desert brush that had served as your kindling. “I’m still not used to living like this -- being scared all the time.”

“It doesn’t get any easier,” Jesse rumbled. “Look at me, still a yellow-bellied coward even with a $6,000 bounty. If anything, I’m even more afraid these days.”

“Why is that?” You asked. You had never thought of Jesse as a scared man. He always seemed so charming and quick-witted. What could possibly frighten the best gunslinger in the west: The Deadeye?  
“I’m terrified of you running off and getting both of us into trouble, that’s what,” he teased, jostling you a bit.

You threw your head back in laughter. “Me? Trouble? I think you have the wrong girl.” You elbowed Jesse in the ribs. He had managed to lift your spirits so easily; it was amazing how at ease you felt after your panic from earlier.

A slow quiet settled over the canyon. You could feel Jesse’s heartbeat where you leaned against his chest, just a touch too fast. What was he thinking? Was he scared?

“What is your plan?” you asked softly. “Where do you want to go?”

Jesse sighed. “I don’t know,” he answered. “I never imagined a life after the gang.”

You shifted slightly, and Jesse’s arm tightened around you. The comfort of his touch was overshadowed by the pain of the realization that he was going to leave you.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

_Stay with you._ You wanted to say. _If you’ll have me. If you promise not to leave._

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” you said. Stamping down your feelings was so much harder with him right there beside you, holding you close. “I’ll think of something.”

“You can figure it out tomorrow,” Jesse said. “Get some more sleep. I’ll wake you if I need you.”

You nodded, drifting off right there in Jesse’s arms. He held you until he was sure you were asleep before wrapping you in the blanket and laying you gently by his feet, close enough by the fire to keep the cool night air from chilling you. Jesse didn’t fight with himself any longer. He placed a gentle kiss to your temple before retreating back to the warmth of the fire.

* * *

The sound of hoof beats against the dry earth echoed in your head. You snapped awake, reaching for Susie as your eyes adjusted to the early morning light.

“Jesse,” you hissed, “someone’s coming.” Off in the distance, a lone horse was riding from the south, heading straight towards where you were camped.

“I know, darling,” he whispered back, “hold tight for a moment.”

You did the exact opposite of hold tight. Kneeling in the dirt, you pinpointed the approaching rider and took aim.

As the horse drew near, you could see the telltale yellow of a Deadlock bandana. Your finger inched towards the trigger.

“Don’t shoot,” Jesse warned. You huffed.

The rider stopped about 40 paces away. He raised his hands in a show of surrender and called out to Jesse.

“Mr. McCree, it’s me, Jamie.” The man pulled his bandana down to reveal his face. You blanched. That was a face you had seen in your nightmares for weeks.

“Dion,” you gasped. 

Jesse glanced your way, but the man, Jamie, was too far away to hear.

“That’s his younger brother, Jamie. He’s safe.” Jesse stood and approached the man on horseback. You stayed rooted to the ground. How could you face this man?

Jamie swung out of the saddle and embraced McCree in a quick hug. He spoke urgently, tripping over his words.

“Ashe is riding this way with a few other members of the gang. You’re lucky she sent me to scout ahead because your camp was real easy to spot.” 

“How far behind are they?” Jesse asked gravely.

“Only a few hours. You have to get out of here real quick. I can try and throw them off a bit, lead them west, but Ashe will have my head when she finds out that ain’t right.” Jamie glanced around worriedly at the thought.

“Don’t worry about none of that. Just tell her where you found us. She’ll kill you if she finds out you lied. We’ll try and outrun y’all towards the mountains.” Jesse turned and started kicking dirt over the ashes of your fire. “Thank you for looking out for us, Jamie,” he called back.

“Just doing my part,” he answered back, “we always liked you more than her anyways, me and Dion. See ya, Mr. McCree.” Jamie spurred his horse back towards where Ashe her men were waiting.

You were still frozen. Jesse grabbed you by the shoulder and forced you to look at him.

“We need to move,” he said. His hand grounded you, snapped you back to attention. You blinked away the images that were burned into your mind, the dead eyes and blood stains.

You lurched into action, rolling your blanket and stowing it on Old Girl before swinging into the saddle and galloping after McCree.

“You should ride off towards the east,” Jesse yelled as you raced through the rocky foothills. “There’s plenty of forest you can take shelter in and then circle back down to Santa Fe once you reach the river.”

“Circle back to Santa Fe?” you asked incredulously. “What about you? What about Grand Junction?”

“I’m going to lead Ashe farther up into the mountains and end this once and for all. I’ll send Jamie to meet you in Santa Fe once she’s dead, then you can go back home to the ranch.” 

“What about you? Where are you going to go?” you demanded.

“I don’t think there’s going to be anywhere for me to go after this,” Jesse called back.

Dread washed over you all at once.

“No,” you whispered to yourself. “No!” you shouted at Jesse. “I’m not going to just leave you to die. I’m staying with you. We’ll fight Ashe together.”

His expression looked pained. “I can’t let her hurt you,” he said. “Please, just go to Santa Fe.”

“You can’t make me leave,” you retorted.

There it was. That fire in your eyes. He knew he couldn’t stop you. There was nothing he could say to convince you to save yourself.

The two of you rode hard. The desert gave way to low brush and more trees. Jesse was right about the mountains. The hills were higher and steeper here, and the trees provided more cover. If you could get to a high enough peak, then you could see Ashe coming from miles away.

High rocks rose up to your left, and you stuck close to the dry cliff face, trying to simultaneously keep cover in the trees and watch for Ashe in the valley below. The ground was rough and uneven under the horse’s hooves, and you knew you would ache for days to come.

“Should come across a town in the next few hours.” Jesse said after a while. “ May not be safe to stay there for the night, but we can rest up for a bit.”

You nodded your agreement and grabbed some food from your pack. Jesse rode up close to you and you passed him a handful of jerky and some bread. He took a long pull from the last canteen before passing it to you. The farther north you traveled, the more frequent lakes and streams appeared. You could always refill the water when you got the chance to stop.

A shot rang out from behind you. You started in the saddle. Jesse kicked Old Girl in the flank before spurring Dixon forward. The canteen slipped from your grasp and skidded down the hillside, water spilling across the dry sand. You pitched precariously and fumbled for the reins as Old Girl followed Dixon through the harsh terrain of trees and boulders.

Craning your neck, you peered back into the valley. A band of riders had appeared on the horizon, kicking up a cloud of reddish-brown dust in their wake. They were too far back for you to make out how many there were, but that wouldn’t last long. Your horses were tired; neither you nor Jesse were rested; the terrain was harsh and difficult to cover. More shots rang over the rocks, bullets tearing into the ground closer and closer to the horses. One of those shots would have to hit eventually.

“We can’t outrun them,” you called to Jesse.

“I know,” he growled. “I wish we could fight on our own terms, but it looks like we’re gonna be doing this the hard way.” He drew Peacekeeper, still bent forward in the saddle with his mouth set into a frown. The wind caught in his serape pulling it back and off his shoulders. 

You had never seen Jesse like this. The man who carried you from Las Luces when you were bloodied and bruised. The man who had held you time and time again as you shook in fear and grief. Jesse, with jam in his moustache and a bottle of whiskey you really shouldn’t have shared. 

This wasn’t the same Jesse you knew. This was the man whose world had been taken from him when he was still a child. This was the man who had sworn vengeance only to be dragged too deep into that darkness. He was a killer.

But so were you.

You grabbed Susie. The rifle felt more familiar now than it ever had when you were young. You would never be a marksman, but you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Sure enough, the riders had gained a good amount of ground. There looked to be about eight of them. You recognized the glint of gold on Ashe’s white horse and the hulking shape of Uncle Bob directly behind her. Jamie was surely among them as well. One of the riders had just loaded another cartridge into his rifle and was moving to take aim.

You raised Susie, cursing the incessant rock and jostle of the saddle as you twisted to see your pursuers. You glared down the sight. Without hesitation, you pulled the trigger.

Even from several dozen yards away, you watched blood and flesh tear from the rider’s shoulder. He cried out in pain and quickly fell behind the rest of the gang members.

“Nice shot,” McCree shouted. His eyes were wild and bright, and he grinned at you with pride and adoration.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you yelled back. “I won’t be able to do that again.”

You could have sworn you heard him chuckle. “Let’s cut this way,” he motioned out away from the rocks. “If I can get them out in the open, I may be able to make this easier on us.” You followed his lead, ducking down close and steering out into the open valley. The lack of cover made your blood turn to molten iron. Every instinct screamed for you to head right back into the safety of the mountains.

Ashe was too close. In no time at all she had caught up to you and Jesse; it wouldn’t be long until she overtook you. You watched her tug her bandana down over her chin, painted lips twisted into a scowl.

“MCCREE,” she bellowed, “I’m gonna rip your guts out with my bare hands!” You shuddered at the thought. Ashe’s cruelty had never been disguised by her appearance. You had no doubt that she would make good on her threats.

“I’d like to see you try, dear sister,” he yelled back. Your eyes widened. What was he _doing_?

You raised your rifle again. Your side ached from having to turn in the saddle. This time, you aimed for Ashe. The rest of the gang would have to disband once she was dead. She was the only reason any of them had ridden this far out. Half of them probably didn’t even care if McCree left. You spotted Jamie, holding a pistol in his hands but making no move to fire a shot. Bob didn’t even have a weapon.

These men didn’t want to turn on their friend. They were simply following the orders of a power-drunk madwoman.

You lined up your shot, aiming directly for the horrid sneer that Ashe wore as she screamed obscenities at McCree.

You fired.

And missed.

The shot whizzed by Ashe’s face, stirring her white hair and stealing her attention away from Jesse. Her eyes were terrifying as they turned on you. Pure rage and hatred. You had never known true wrath until this moment.

Ashe raised her gun. There was no mistaking that this was your end. She wouldn’t miss.

You tried to pull on the reins, drag yourself out of her sight, but it wasn’t fast enough.

The sound of a shot. You watched the rifle explode in Ashe’s arms. The gun splintered into a hundred pieces of golden metal and wood and smoke. She howled - a twisted, pained sound - and toppled out of her saddle. Her boot was caught in the stirrup, she dragged behind the galloping beast, howling in pain. The dust was thick under the horse’s hooves, but you saw the look of horror on Bob’s face as Ashe’s foot slipped from her boot and she disappeared under the band of horses. You were thankful to be far enough away that you didn’t hear what was surely the crunch of bone beneath iron shoes.

Two other riders slumped forward in their saddles, shot directly between the eyes.

You glanced over to Jesse. He was reloading Peacekeeper. His eyes looked distant and unfocused. Had he been hit? Was he hurt?

You remembered what he had said about Deadeye.

_The world slows down, and suddenly I know that I can’t possibly miss._

You turned again to look behind you. The riders had fallen back, halting their horses to turn back for Ashe, or what remained of her. Jamie’s eyes were bright as he watched you and Jesse pull ahead, and he gave a small wave. You returned the gesture.

Deadlock slowly disappeared on the horizon behind you. You watched Bob’s silhouette fade into the landscape as you and Jesse escaped. The world seemed to become quiet again the more distance you put between yourselves and Ashe.

Jesse didn’t speak. He looked haggard and exhausted. The sun sank lower in the sky, threatening to dip behind the ever higher mountains that sheltered you on either side. The afternoon wore on in a strange haze. Your blood finally stopped pounding in your ears and a strange fatigue settled over you. Still, you rode on.

True to Jesse’s word, you came across a town after several hours of riding. He turned Dixon off the road, ready to circle the outskirts and bypass the town altogether, but you called for him to follow you and rode straight for the the main road.

Jesse staggered and swayed as he slid out of the saddle. You threw his arm over your shoulder and led him up the steps of the hotel. He muttered his complaints and protests as you dragged him inside.

“When was the last time you slept?” you demanded. “We can rest here for the night. It’s not going to kill you to sleep in a real bed for once.”

You slammed a few bills on the counter, the last of your earnings from the schoolhouse. You would barely have a cent to your name by the time you made it to Grand Junction. Jesse kept up his grumbling the whole way to your room, right up until you dumped him on the bed.

“I’m going to go stable the horses and I’ll be right back with some food and water.” You planted your hands on your hips. “Do not move from that bed until I get back.”

You took the horses to the stables and made sure they were taken before making your way back to the room, picking up a tray with two bowls of soup on your way. Jesse was snoring soundly on the bed when you slipped into the room, so you set the food on the side table. Collapsing into bed beside him, you fell asleep as soon as you closed your eyes.

* * *

You bolted awake, breathing hard. The bed was empty next to you, and you reached blindly in the low light as you tried to catch your bearings.

“I’m here.” Jesse came to sit next to you. He was holding a bowl of stew, long cold.

“What time is it?” you asked. You felt like shit. Everything hurt. You were starving and thirsty. You still didn’t feel rested.

“You only slept for a few hours. It’s the middle of the night right now, just after midnight.” Jesse pressed the other bowl into your hand. You sipped at the broth for a moment before you felt able to take a proper bite. Several minutes of silence passed as you ate and drank your fill.

“I grabbed a basin and some washcloths,” Jesse said once he had emptied his bowl. “I washed up while you were asleep. Can step out for a bit if you need to get cleaned up.” He watched you carefully.

“Yeah, I’ll just be a few minutes if you want to take these back down.” You passed him your empty bowl.

Once Jesse had gone, you stripped out of your clothes and dipped a cloth into the clean water. It felt amazing to wash away the dust and sweat of several days of travel. You did the best you could. Some soap would have been nice, but you would hopefully be able to clean up nicer when you made it to Grand Junction.

A knock at the door made you jump. Jesse was back.

“I’m not decent,” you called, “give me just a moment please.” Grabbing a fresh chemise from your pack, you pulled the fabric over your head and dashed to the door to let Jesse in.

“Sorry about that,” you apologized as you unlocked the door. “You know how us ladies take so long to get washed.” You moved to put everything away, not noticing that Jesse was hesitating in the doorway.

You didn’t notice. It was obvious. You wouldn’t have answered the door if you had known. Jesse stood in the light of the hall, watching you flit around the small room in nothing but your underclothes.

The chemise itself was modest enough. At this point, Jesse had seen you in nothing but ripped clothes and your own blood. The problem lay elsewhere.

You must have still been damp from the washbasin when you dressed in the already delicate linen. The fabric clung to your body, water turning the threads transparent against your skin. You must not have noticed in your hurry to get changed, because you threw open the door and then immediately turned to pack up your things. Jesse felt his head grow light and his skin grow hot as you readied yourself for bed.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair and fighting every word his heart was screaming at him.

He wanted you. More than anything. He wanted a life with you - a future with you. You were his second chance. Ashe was gone. Deadlock was nothing but dust in the harsh desert winds. You were free from Sombra. Life with you was easy, comfortable. Jesse hadn’t known ease or comfort since he was a child.

Once you were satisfied with your efforts to tidy up, you turned to Jesse and smiled so sweetly he thought he was going to die.

“Let’s get a few more hours of rest,” you said, crawling around him and tugging the blankets up to your shoulders. Jesse turned out the lamp light and tried to rein in his racing thoughts as your breathing softened beside him.

Would you let him? If he asked to stay with you? Could you take pity on a retired killer? You were too good for him. He would never try to pretend otherwise. Would you have the patience to put up with Jesse if he tried to build an honest life?

You slept soundly. Jesse let out a shaky breath and turned to wrap an arm around you. He stayed perfectly still, just in case you woke and grew angry with him. Nothing happened. You wriggled in closer to his chest; one of your hands grabbed lightly at his shirt.

Leaving you would be the hardest thing he ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end now folks! I can't wait for these idiots to smooch!
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty) now and sometimes I'm really funny I promise!
> 
> I have a lot of other writing up on my [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/) as well!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I love seeing all of your kudos and comments!


	13. Heart Made of Copper and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So I leave you this heart made of copper and gold_   
>  _May it be yours until you grow old_   
>  _And if the rains ever come, and anger you seize_   
>  _Will you polish that heart and then think of me?_   
>  _Will you polish that heart and then think of me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've finally made it! This was a much longer journey than I originally anticipated, but I'm glad I was able to take the time to give this story the love and attention it deserves! Thank you so much for sticking with us this long <3<3<3 It means everything to me

Grand Junction was a busy town, just as bustling as Albuquerque but much louder. Trains roared and rattled under clouds of black smoke. Hundreds of people wandered the streets, working and shopping and playing without worry. You welcomed the familiarity of the crowds and the noise. It was easy to disappear into the busy streets, just two more people among hundreds.

A sense of dread pooled in Jesse’s gut as the two of you rode towards the train station, just on the south edge of town. This was it. You were leaving. In no more than an hour, you would be on your way to a new life, and Jesse would be left behind.

He had lost everything before, and now he had lost everything again. Ashe was dead. Deadlock was nothing. You had been his only hope for a second chance and you were about to disappear from his life forever. He would be better off turning himself into the law and taking the sweet embrace of the gallows than trying to make a new life for himself yet again. A man could only put himself back together so many times before the pieces didn’t go together quite right anymore. Hell, he had lost so many parts of himself over the years he wasn’t even sure he was whole.

You hitched Old Girl and dug a sugar cube out of the bottom of your pack. She lapped up the treat happily. Pressing your forehead to the coarse hairs just above her muzzle, you let out a long sigh before turning to Jesse.

“You’ll be able to look after her, right?” you asked. Jesse nodded.

“She’ll be just fine with me. Don’t worry.”

He walked with you into the train station, trying to reinforce his heart for the goodbye that was sure to come. You didn’t take much with you, just your own pack and one of the saddlebags.

Jesse hung back as you read the board listing departure times and fares. You seemed to contemplate for a moment before turning and wandering back towards where he was waiting. Had you changed your mind? Were you going to stay after all?

“I don’t have enough money to get anywhere,” you said, staring at the ground. “Even if I buy a ticket to Denver, I won’t be able to afford anything once I get there.”

A small, selfish part of Jesse was relieved. Relieved that he had just a little bit longer with you. But you looked so crestfallen, tears were welling in your eyes.

“Take this.” Jesse grabbed a handful of bills. “Don’t even worry about paying me back. It’s enough to get you started.” It was more than enough money. You wouldn’t have to work for months no matter where you decided to go.

You shook your head, pushing his hand away. “I can’t take your money, Jesse. I’ll just stay here. This is a nice, big town. I’m sure I can work at one of the schoolhouses.”

“Such a city girl,” Jesse smiled and shook his head. You flushed at his teasing.

“It’s probably better if you take Old Girl still. I know it’s a lot of responsibility, but… I just don’t think it’s right if she stays with me.” You couldn’t take any reminders of him with you. Your new life had to be entirely separate from Jesse. You couldn’t live with yourself if you had to wake up everyday and face reminders of his generosity. His horse. His money. He had already wormed his way into so many memories, so many feelings. He would only make this harder on you if he gave you even more to remember him by.

“Are you sure?” Jesse asked, brows furrowed.

You nodded. “I should probably get going.” You shifted your weight; you were about to leave. It was too soon. There was so much Jesse wanted to say. How could he just let you walk away?

Reaching out, you took one of his hands in yours, squeezing gently. Your face was flushed, eyes still shining with tears. Was this any easier for you than it was for him?

“Goodbye, Jesse McCree.” Your voice threatened to break as you looked up at him. “Thank you, for everything you’ve done. I owe you my life.”

Letting his hand fall, you turned. You made it all of two steps before he reached out to grab your wrist, tugging you to him. You stumbled, falling into his chest with a small noise of shock. He held your wrist, but you made no move to pull away, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“I want you to stay with me,” he said. “Or I want to stay with you. Doesn’t matter much to me as long as we’re together.” He couldn’t let you leave without telling you. At least this way he could live with himself, knowing that he had done everything he could.

“I’m in love with you,” you said. It wasn’t a confession; it was a warning. A reason for him to leave.

Did you think that he would turn you away? Did you not realize that Jesse would spend every remaining breath with you if only you would have him? He couldn’t imagine a life without you.

“That’s good to hear. It would be a shame if I was head over heels for a woman who didn’t feel the same about me.” Jesse smiled. It was a soft expression. You had only seen it a few times before, but now you understood what it meant.

You flung your arms around his neck. Your lips pressed to his and he melted beneath your touch. His hands pulled you in to him, eliminating the space between you. This embrace was how he could show you everything he was too much of a coward to say. He held you close and felt years of comfort in those few seconds. All of the worry and pain from yesterday dissipated under the warmth of your touch. No matter where he ended up, what strange fate awaited him at the end of the line, it would all be worth it with you by his side.

You pulled away, breathless and flushed, a picture Jesse wanted to see every day for the rest of his sinful life.

“Why don’t we find somewhere we can stay?” he asked. “We can take some time to figure everything out.”

* * *

McCree swept you into his arms the second the hotel room door was closed and locked. His lips brushed your cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose. You giggled and clutched at his serape as he carried you over to the bed.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he breathed in between kisses. His arms never moved, holding you secure against him. The contact was liberating, to be so close to him -- safe in his arms.

“What stopped you before?” you asked.

“I didn’t want to risk it -- dragging you into this life. You always deserved better.”

You took his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. “What could be better than you? A mundane life on the ranch? Living out the rest of my days as a schoolteacher? You have given me the world, Jesse.”

“I brought you nothing but trouble.”

You kissed him fiercely in an attempt to convey your devotion. “You saved me,” you insisted once you had left him breathless and dazed.

“You wanted to leave.”

“Because I thought I was a burden to you.” Your head fell against his shoulder, one hand tracing along his knuckles. “You’re _The Deadeye_. The last thing you needed was some lovesick city girl following you across the desert.”

“Sounds like a dream to me.” He grinned and planted a kiss on top of your head. “You’re not that much of a city girl, either,” Jesse assured you. “You know how to ride and shoot. You’re a regular old outlaw.”

“My pa’s worst fear.” 

“He made that plenty clear when we were saying goodbye at the ranch.” Jesse grimaced. “Told me you deserve a better life than the one I lead. But he knew he couldn’t stop you from doing what he wanted.”

“He certainly can’t. Besides, you’re a changed man now.” You kissed his cheek. “We’re going to have to lead proper, honest lives from here on out. No more criming for you, Mr. Deadeye.”

“I’m not sure these hands are good for much more than killing.”

“Then we’ll just have to figure out what they can do,” you assured him. Your tone left no room for argument.

“They’ll be plenty good at holding you.” Jesse pulled you in for another kiss, letting his fingers wander over your sides and down your hips. You tugged at his shirt, untucking it so your hand could slide over his skin. He shuddered at the feeling.

You parted just long enough for him to unbutton his shirt. His skin was dark and scarred. The slash on his side had healed to a raw pink mark among a landscape of old wounds. You recognized bullets and knives and claws all across his chest. Your hands were gentle as they trailed over the skin. 

“I’ve seen better days.” Jesse watched you nervously.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You placed a kiss over the slash you had left. The scar was smooth and soft against your lips. Another kiss to a years old bullet wound. You traveled up, over his ribs and sternum. Your lips brushed his collarbone before finding his neck. He tensed beneath you, hands flexing in the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?” you asked.

“Can I have you?” His voice was low, rough.

“I’m yours,” you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Can I _take_ you?” His hands rested on your hips, warm even through the layers of your skirt and petticoat.

“Oh,” you gasped. Your head felt light, and suddenly the small hotel room was much too warm.

“It’s okay if you want to wait.” He shifted, ready to pull away.

You placed your hands over Jesse’s wrists to hold them in place. “I want this… just please, go slow.”

“Of course, darling,” he promised. “Let me show you what these hands can do.”

He cradled you close as he lay you back on the bed. You watched as he undid each button of your blouse, kissing every inch of skin that he exposed. The two of you worked together to remove your chemise and skirts. Jesse marveled at your body. The places it was soft, the places it wasn’t. You had scars of your own that he traced with his fingertips. His palms skimmed up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples. The sensation made you arch your back, and Jesse didn’t hesitate to do it again.

His lips found your chest. Your hand found his hair, fingers winding in the long strands as his tongue and teeth drove you wild beneath him. You could feel his satisfaction as your eyes closed and your lips parted.

“Please,” you begged. You weren’t sure what you wanted, but you hoped Jesse would know.

He did.

“Spread your legs for me.” You complied, letting him settle between your thighs. “Just like that, darling.” His hand ran over your thigh, your hips, your stomach.

“You’re so wet.” His fingers dragged through the slick. “Just let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Please don’t,” you whined.

Jesse chuckled. “I haven’t even started, sweetheart.” He lifted one of your hands to place a kiss across your knuckles. You met his eyes, and at that moment he pressed one of his fingers into you. He moved slowly, in and out in long strokes.

You rolled your hips. Jesse watched you carefully, waiting for you to relax before adding a second finger. This time you moaned and reached for Jesse’s free hand. He laced his fingers with yours, waiting to move.

You weren’t expecting him to curl his fingers. The delightful pressure caused an almost embarrassing reaction as you squirmed and whined beneath him.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, repeating the motion. You held his hand like your life depended on it, falling apart piece by piece with each expert shift of his fingers. His thumb brushed your clit slowly, building pressure with each pass. You could feel pressure - heat - building inside you, a fire that he stoked with every kiss and thrust.

“Jesse!”

“I’m right here,” he released your hand to brush your hair back, kissing you sweetly though he only increased the pace his fingers were moving.

You came undone with his lips on your neck. Jesse held you as your vision went white, then dark. You panted heavily, reveling in the lightheadedness as he slowed the motion of his fingers and carried you through the shudders of your orgasm.

He held you for several moments, one hand still stroking your hair while the other was hastily wiped on his pants before snaking around your waist. You were limp and useless, waiting for the haze to clear.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and muffled against your skin.

“I’m great,” you smiled. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Jesse was flushed from his cheeks to his shoulders, and you could feel his erection pressing against your thigh through the thick material of his pants.

“Only if you’re feeling up to it.” He eyed you carefully, searching your eyes for any hesitation. You reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle until Jesse brushed your hands aside. He was much quicker undressing himself. His pants were shucked to the floor without much care.

You watched, enraptured, as he stroked himself. His nervous expression melted away to a lazy grin, and he settled in between your legs once more. He leaned forward, taking your hand in his again, squeezing gently as he pressed his hips forward. You felt pressure sliding up, over your clit before trailing down. It felt good, and your eyes fluttered as he repeated the motion.

A push forward, and they flew open once more. Jesse buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavy against your skin. Your grabbed at his arm, nails digging into the muscle.

The movement of his hips started slow. You could feel his restraint as he rocked against you. It was overwhelming, but just shy of too much. You clung to him and let your head fall back.

Jesse never stopped whispering to you, telling you how beautiful you looked, how amazing you felt, how he wanted to spend every minute with you. One hand slipped between you to rub your clit, and you came again. He didn’t slow. His hips continued to move against yours, drawing out your orgasm.

He kissed you, teeth catching your bottom lip. You could tell he was close to finishing; his hands flew to your hips, gripping you tightly as he increased his own pace. He was slamming into you with each thrust.

Then he stilled. A breathy moan ripped from his throat and he pulled back, setting you gently on the bed. His eyes fell to where he had just finished, you could feel the aftermath of his orgasm spilling over your thighs.

Jesse rose, grabbing a cloth to wipe himself down before returning to do the same for you. He slipped into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms. His lips brushed the top of your head.

* * *

Morning crept into the room slowly. Soft light pressed against your eyelids accompanied by the low murmur of people on the street below. You pressed even closer to Jesse, listening to his heartbeat as the world began to stir around you.

“Are you going to let me out of this bed?” Jesse voice was heavy with sleep.

“I don’t know, maybe,” you teased.

“Up we go,” Jesse wrapped you in his arms and stood. Your toes dangled off the floor. He set you down gently, kissing your nose before releasing you.

The two of you managed to get dressed, despite frequent stops for kisses and teasing. At the bottom of the stairs, the hotel clerk handed Jesse a letter. He frowned at the paper.

“What does it say?” you asked.

“It’s from Jamie. Ashe is dead. Deadlock is gone.”

“Oh,” you glanced at your feet, then back at Jesse. The relief you felt was not matched in his expression. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not an easy thing for you.”

“It’s better this way.” He tucked the paper into his satchel. 

The two of you wandered out to the street. A train pulled out of the station just as you passed by, roaring loudly.

“I think I want to move somewhere quiet,” you mused once the iron beast had disappeared from sight.

“Is that so?” Jesse looked at you, shocked.

“Just you, me, and the horses.” Something caught your eye and you halted mid-step. “A sweet shop! Let’s go get something!” You grabbed Jesse’s hand and began dragging him towards the little confectioner’s shop.

You grinned and tugged harder on his arm. “Hurry up, cowboy!”

He couldn’t imagine a life without you. Nothing until this moment had ever mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post updates on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Clare_Guilty)! Feel free to come say hi!
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> Check out my other fics on my [Tumblr](https://clareguilty.tumblr.com/)! I post my shorter works there!
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> Your kudos and comments are always appreciated! Thank you so much for your feedback!


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